Breaking Point

by Frank Smith

  ‘They don’t have to know the specifics,’ he’d assured them, ‘but if I simply tell them to drop the Newman case without some sort of reasonable explanation, it could lead to all sorts of speculation and discussion, which is exactly what we don’t want.

  ‘Ben, I’m asking you to trust me on this,’ he said earnestly, ‘because I trust these two men, and I know Mr Alcott will agree with me on that.’

  Paget smiled to himself at the memory. Alcott hadn’t had much choice; if he didn’t agree he would be saying in effect that he didn’t trust his own men. And when it came right down to it, Trowbridge had seen the sense of the argument.

  He arrived a few minutes earlier than usual, but Tregalles and Ormside were there ahead of him, and Tregalles was writing something on one of the whiteboards.

  ‘Something new?’ he said, pausing to read what the sergeant had written. ‘Who is Udall?’ he asked sharply. ‘You went to this man’s house last night, Tregalles?’

  ‘That’s right,’ the sergeant told him, ‘although I can’t say he was pleased to see me. But he did give me Slater’s name, saying he was a mate of Fletcher’s, and while he didn’t actually implicate McCoy in anything, I’m convinced that McCoy knows more than he’s telling us, and I think we should have him in for a heart-to-heart.’

  But Paget shook his head. This was the last thing he’d expected, and it would have to be dealt with immediately.

  ‘Rub it out,’ he told Tregalles, ‘then come up to my office, both of you. There’s been a development in the case, but I don’t want to discuss it here.’

  ‘Rub it out . . .?’ Tregalles said. ‘But I just said, this could mean that McCoy?’

  ‘I said rub it out!’ Paget told him. ‘Do it now before anyone else has a chance to see it.’ He waited while a clearly unhappy sergeant scrubbed the latest addition off the board, then said, ‘Come with me and I’ll fill you in.’

  The two men exchanged questioning looks as they followed Paget up the stairs. But while Ormside was simply puzzled by the DCI’s behaviour, Tregalles was trying to work out what he’d done wrong.

  ‘Close the door and sit down,’ Paget said as he took his own seat behind his desk. ‘And don’t look so hurt, Tregalles. There’s a good reason for my telling you to scrub that information off the board just now.’

  He settled back in his seat. ‘Now, what I’m about to tell you is highly confidential,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, I’m not at liberty to give you any details at this time, but we have been ordered to shut down the Newman case temporarily, because there is another investigation involving RGS under way. What I can tell you is that it is a major investigation that has been going on for some time. We’ve been warned off at the highest level, and I have given my word that we’ll stand aside until it’s resolved.

  ‘So all activity on this case is to cease immediately. No phone enquiries, no visits to RGS, no talking to anyone out there. Which brings me,’ he said, eyes firmly fixed on Tregalles, ‘to your visit with Mr Udall last night. Normally, I would applaud the initiative, Tregalles, but this visit of yours could put the whole case in jeopardy, so I want to hear every last detail. I want to know exactly what you said, what he said, and what you think he will do – if he hasn’t done it already.’

  ‘You can hardly blame me for doing my job,’ Tregalles said defensively. ‘I mean how was I supposed to know there was something else going on?’

  ‘You couldn’t, and I’m not blaming you,’ Paget said firmly, ‘but the fact remains that I need to know every last detail, so let’s get on with it and not waste any more time.’

  Tregalles had a good memory, so he was able to relate what was said on both sides virtually verbatim, concluding with: ‘and I’m almost one hundred percent sure that Udall won’t say anything that might jeopardize his position there. As he said, he’s too close to retirement. Sorry, boss, but if I’d known . . .’

  ‘I knew nothing of this other investigation myself until last night,’ Paget told him, ‘so the main thing now is to make sure that no one who has been working on the case, does anything that might cause a problem.’

  He cast a speculative eye in Tregalles’s direction. ‘Have you mentioned this chat with Udall to anyone else?’ he asked.

  Tregalles shook his head. ‘Lyons and I talked about it when we were on our way in from RGS yesterday, but that’s all. I haven’t seen him this morning, so he doesn’t know that I spoke to Udall last night, and I won’t tell him.’

  Ormside stirred beside him. ‘It might be better if you did,’ he said. ‘But tell Lyons that Udall had nothing to add to whatever he told you yesterday. Otherwise, if he thinks you’re dragging your feet, he’s the sort who might take it into his head to go off to talk to Udall himself. He’s dead keen on getting rid of that black mark on his record.’

  Paget nodded slowly in agreement. ‘You may be right,’ he said. ‘As you say, the last thing we need is someone like Lyons sticking his oar in. So find something else for him to do.’

  ‘Just one more thing,’ Ormside said. ‘Emma Baker called in again this morning to ask what we were doing about tracing the man who was in the Red Lion the other night. We know it’s a fleet car belonging to a company in Hammersmith, but we don’t have the name of the person who had it out during that time. I think it’s a fairly safe bet that he’s some sort of sales rep on legitimate business, but after what you’ve just told us, I think we should drop any further enquiries in case he is involved in some way.’

  Again, Paget nodded agreement. ‘Tell whoever is on it to drop it,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you can find something more pressing for them to do.’

  ‘No problem there,’ Ormside assured him, ‘but what do I tell Forsythe – and Emma Baker if she calls again. She can be pretty persistent.’

  ‘Tell them that the man appears to be a legitimate sales rep who passes through the area from time to time, but we’re keeping an eye on him.’

  As the two men left the office, Paget reached for the phone. Reluctant as he was to call Trowbridge, the man had to be told. If Udall so much as breathed a word to any of his mates about talking to the police, and McCoy got wind of it, the run NCIS was counting on could very well be cancelled, and the operation closed down completely. And all that painstaking work, all the time and energy that had been spent by NCIS and others would go for nought. But worst of all, the women and children, who might have been saved from a life of sexual slavery, would simply disappear, and probably never be heard from again.

  Alcott would have to be told as well. Paget began to punch in the internal number, then paused. Better call Trowbridge first; he wouldn’t like the news but at least his reaction was predictable. Alcott, on the other hand, was another story altogether.

  Lyons was not a happy man. He’d really begun to think that he and Tregalles were becoming a team, and he’d come in this morning full of ideas as to how they should proceed in the Newman case. He’d given it a lot of thought, and it was clear to him that they should be talking to some of the RGS employees on an individual basis away from the work place, and especially away from their boss, McCoy. And, as he and Tregalles had discussed the day before, the one they should talk to first was the old man who had spoken out, only to be silenced by McCoy.

  He’d been tempted to tackle the man on his own last night. It would show Tregalles and DCI Paget that he had initiative, and it might help remove that reprimand from his record a little faster. In fact he had taken the trouble to go through the list of employees, and it hadn’t been hard to work out that Udall, as the oldest employee on the list, was the name of the man who’d spoken out. And he lived in Broadminster. Lyons had toyed with the idea throughout the evening, but finally decided to observe the rules and try to persuade Tregalles to let him have a go at Udall after work the following day.

  But Tregalles had beaten him to it. Not only that, but the sergeant had come up empty.

  ‘It was a wasted trip,’ Tregalles told him. ‘Udall didn’t have any more to say
than he said yesterday. He made it plain he had no use for Fletcher, and he said again he wasn’t surprised to hear that he was mixed up in something dodgy, but apart from that he couldn’t tell me anything else. And if anyone else out there is involved, I believe him when he says he doesn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘But McCoy could be involved himself,’ Lyons protested, ‘or at least he must have known that Fletcher was up to something.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Tregalles conceded, ‘and I’ll be following that up, but I’m afraid I’ll be doing it without your help, Leo. Sorry, but Ormside is desperately short of people, so you’ll be back with him for the time being.’

  They came in just before closing time that evening. The man Emma had come to think of as the ‘quiet man’, accompanied by the Australian – the very man Molly had asked her to watch for and call her if he came in again.

  So her memory hadn’t been playing tricks on her, she thought, trying desperately not to show more than a casual interest as she served them; a Bass for the Australian and an orange juice for his companion. So he must be driving.

  Emma glanced at the clock as the two men moved away from the bar and sat down at a table. Even if she could leave the bar without attracting attention and put in a call to Molly, there was no way that she or the police could get there before closing time. People were drifting out already, and Jack would be throwing the towel over the pumps any minute now. She picked up a glass and began polishing it while she watched out of the corner of her eye. The Australian took another drink; there was less than a third left in his glass when he set it down, so it wouldn’t be long before they left. Emma tried to think of a way to delay them, but there was nothing she could do . . .

  Or was there?

  Emma set the glass down and mopped her brow with her forearm. ‘Sorry, Jack,’ she said wearily, ‘but I’ve got a rotten headache coming on, and I’d really like to go home and get my head down. Would you mind very much if I leave now?’

  ‘Course not,’ Tanner told her. ‘There’s not that much to clean up, so off you go. Be all right, will you? Walking back home on your own?’

  ‘Have been every night so far,’ she assured him. ‘It’s only a couple of hundred yards, so don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll be fine once I’ve had a good sleep.’

  She didn’t like deceiving Jack. He was a good boss, but this was something she felt she had to do, and she had to do it now before the men left the pub.

  Once outside, she ran all the way to the cottage and around the back to where she kept her car. It was going on fourteen years old; it was rusting out, and everyone called it an old banger, but it had a good engine, and what was more important, it was relatively cheap to run.

  She drove back to the Red Lion and parked on the street where she had a clear view of the car park, and she’d only just switched off the lights when the two men came out of the pub. The Australian continued on into the car park, but the quiet man remained on the step, head held high as if sniffing the night air. He remained there until a car pulled up beside him and he got in.

  So, he wasn’t the driver after all, and neither was that the same car he’d been driving last week. It probably belonged to the Australian, and if she had known that ahead of time she would have taken its number. But here the lighting was poor, and it was impossible for Emma to tell the make or even the true colour of the car, and she certainly couldn’t read the number plate.

  They came out of the car park and turned right. Emma’s heart was beating a little faster as she pulled out to follow them. She had never done anything like it before, but she knew enough not to get too close.

  She followed the car out of the village in the direction of Lyddingham. The road didn’t go anywhere else, and there was nothing in between, except for a few cottages, one of which, she reminded herself, was where Fletcher and his girlfriend had lived.

  The news about Rose Ryan had been all over the local papers. There had been plenty of speculation but very little in the way of facts, and Emma had tried to get Molly to tell her more. Was it an accident or murder? Molly had refused to be drawn, saying only that it was still under investigation.

  Deep in her own thoughts, it took Emma a few seconds to realize that the lights ahead of her had vanished. She had travelled this road many times, so she knew it ran straight for at least another quarter mile, so where . . .?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the glow of reflected light off to her left. Headlights sweeping the sky as the car she’d been following wound its way into the hills. It was a narrow, winding road, serving a scattering of farms before descending into the valley to join the main road between Broadminster and Ludlow.

  Emma slowed as she reached the turning, less certain now that what she was doing was wise. It was one thing to follow these men along a well-travelled road, but quite another to follow them on a back road where farmhouses were as much as a mile apart.

  On the other hand, she would never forgive herself if she gave up now.

  ‘Right!’ she said loudly, more to bolster her own courage than for any other reason, and made the turn.

  It wasn’t a bad road, but it was narrow, bordered by high banks and brambles in some places, deep ditches in others, and the bends in the road were extremely sharp. It might be all right in daylight, Emma thought, but not on a moonless night such as this one. The grades were steep, and there were times when her headlights were pointed at the sky rather than focussed on the next turning in the road.

  And it was dark! Apart from the odd pinprick of light from a distant farmhouse she could see absolutely nothing of the countryside around her.

  She slowed as she crested the next rise, and suddenly the hedges were gone and the top of the hill was bare. Emma swore beneath her breath as she hit the brakes and doused the lights.

  ‘Some tracker you turned out to be!’ she muttered angrily. ‘Nothing like announcing what you’re doing and where you are to the whole world!’

  The darkness closed in around her. She felt as if her face was being covered with a cloak of black velvet. For all she could see she might well have been blind.

  And she’d lost them.

  She peered into the darkness. This had to be the highest point in the road, because she could see pinpricks of light in the distance below. But no headlights; no moving glow in the sky, and that worried her. No matter how far ahead of her the car might be, she should be able to see some sort of glow from their lights. She opened the window and listened, but all she could hear was the ticking of her own engine as it cooled.

  She ran her tongue over her lips and tasted salt; her hands were slippery on the wheel, and she realized she was sweating despite the cold that came pouring in through the open window. She closed it and sat there shivering as she tried to think what to do next.

  It was just possible, she supposed, that they knew the road so well that they had reached the main road to Ludlow, and that was why she couldn’t see their lights. If they had, then she’d really lost them because they could be anywhere by now.

  But just suppose that they were on to her and were waiting for her? Sitting there with the lights off, waiting for her to appear. There would be nowhere to go; no way of backing up or turning round.

  On the other hand, perhaps they had reached their destination. But that would have to be one of the farms, and that didn’t seem too likely; neither one of them had looked like farmers to her, nor did they look like the sort who would be staying at a farm way out here.

  But the question remained: if not at a farm, then where? She couldn’t go on until she knew, and she couldn’t go back, because to try to turn round in the dark would probably mean ending up in a ditch and being stuck out there for the rest of the night.

  No one who knew her would ever call Emma Baker fanciful, but alone out there in the middle of nowhere, her imagination was working overtime.

  She drew a deep breath, and told herself not to be so silly. Either the two men had turned off long
ago, or they were so far ahead of her that she would never catch up to them.

  Which meant there was nothing to worry about.

  Emma reached for the key in the ignition, then paused. She was anxious to get going, but perhaps it would be best to wait. Just in case, because if they were waiting for her, and she didn’t appear, they might well think they were mistaken, and go on. Which meant they would have to put their lights on again and she would know where they were.

  Emma pulled her coat even closer around her and settled down to wait.

  She’d planned to stay longer, but at the end of ten minutes Emma had had enough. She started the car. The sooner she could get down to the main road, the sooner she could go home. It would take her about twenty minutes longer, using the main roads, but that was better by far than travelling this road again. Clearly, sleuthing was not one of her talents. She’d been a fool to try to follow the two men. Next time, leave it to the police, she told herself crossly, and vowed to call Molly Forsythe first thing in the morning. At least she could tell her that the Australian was back.

  The two men watched from their place of concealment as the car rounded the corner and carried on down the hill. The waited until it had passed before turning to walk back up the track to where they’d left the car.

  ‘I told you it was the woman from the pub,’ Luka said. ‘I thought I recognized the car when we left the pub. It was the same one that was parked round the back of the house when we went in to clear out the kid’s room.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t know what you’re using for night vision,’ the Australian growled, ‘but I could barely tell it was a car as it went by, let alone what make it was and who was driving. I think you’re getting jumpy in your old age, Luka. I mean, other people do use this road, you know. It could have been anybody, and I don’t intend to worry about it. You can if you want, but leave me out of it. Anyway, why shouldn’t her car be outside the pub? And why would she follow us? We weren’t in there more than twenty minutes, so unless you said something to her to make her suspicious – I know I didn’t – I can’t see why she should take it into her head to follow us. Did you say anything to her, Luka?’