Echoes of Lies

by Jo Bannister

  “I gave my word,” murmured Daniel.

  “I don’t think Jack Deacon’s a man you want to annoy.”

  He stared. “Meaning that Lance Ibbotsen is?”

  Brodie breathed heavily. It was getting just a little irksome the way he used his pain as a kind of trump card, an answer to every argument. “Meaning,” she said, getting into the car, “that you’d better pick a side and stick to it. And if it isn’t Ibbotsen’s, we’ll go round to the police station right now and tell Deacon everything.”

  Daniel’s expression was stubborn. “I gave him my word. I won’t go back on it.”

  “Then get in the car. They want us up at Chandlers.”

  Misgivings clouded his face. “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Brodie said tersely. “I got a phonecall from David Ibbotsen ten minutes ago. He wants to see us right away. He wouldn’ t say why.”

  Fear bloomed in Daniel’s eyes and his voice was hollow. “Oh no.”

  Chapter 15

  As Brodie turned off the Shore Road towards Chandlers, suddenly Daniel stiffened beside her. “Stop the car.”

  She pulled in quickly. “What is it?” But he was already bailing out, stumbling across the verge and throwing up in a hedge.

  She said nothing, simply waited until he came back, white and shame-faced. “Sorry.”

  “Daniel - why are you doing this to yourself? Let’s go home. I’ll ring them and say we’re not coming.”

  He shook his head. “I told them to call if there was anything I could do. They called. I can’t just go home.”

  “Of course you can. Just because an Ibbotsen yanks our chain doesn’t mean we have to jump. We owe them nothing. And any help they need they can buy.”

  “They know that too. They must think there’s something we can do for them that the experts can’t.”

  With no answer to his logic, Brodie appealed to common sense. “But we’re getting in deeper and deeper. That family’s problems are not our concern. You’ve already helped more than they had any right to expect. I don’t like the way you’ve been manoeuvred into lying to - all right, misleading - the police. You don’t want Detective Inspector Deacon as an enemy.”

  “I don’t want any enemies,” protested Daniel. “But a choice between irritating one person and letting another get hurt, or maybe killed, makes itself. What did he say when he called you? Has something happened?”

  Brodie looked away. “I don’t know. He was upset, he wasn’t making a lot of sense. He said something about the post.”

  Daniel jolted visibly. “He’s got something from the kidnappers. Something to stir him into action. But if Sophie was dead he wouldn’t have called us, he’d have called the police. He must think we can do something. We have to find out what.”

  “No,” she said forcibly, “we don’t. He shouldn’t be asking, and we shouldn’t consider it. Daniel, listen to me. If the child is already dead, then it’s a tragedy but there’s nothing for us to reproach ourselves about. If we get drawn into Ibbotsen’s machinations and she dies tomorrow, that may not still be the case.”

  His eyes were as clear as ice. But ice is deceptive. It only looks fragile: actually it’s hard, and it burns. “What if there’s some way we can help and we’re too scared to try? We’re not going to reproach ourselves about that? You know how I feel about cowardice - it terrifies me.”

  Brodie looked at him, troubled, and saw the tiny smile. It would have been easy to give in to him. But there was too much at stake. “Daniel, if this is what you want, I’ll do it. Not for David Ibbotsen, or even his daughter, but for you. I owe it to you. But I believe it’s a mistake.

  “I was afraid that if we found these people it would be the end of everything. Well, we found them; and now I’m afraid this is just the start. We’re going to get so mired in this whole sorry business there’ll be no escaping the consequences. We’ll be powerless to prevent what’s going to happen but too close to avoid the fall-out. The Ibbotsens can’t keep the police at bay forever. When Deacon finds out that a child was kidnapped and nobody told him, and that we knew about it, he’s going to come after us with a meat-cleaver.”

  “We haven’t done anything wrong! Helping a man get his daughter back isn’t a crime.”

  “Withholding evidence is. I don’t know what Deacon can do to you - maybe in the circumstances he’d feel pretty silly trying to arrest you. But he’ll drop on me like a ton of bricks. He doesn’t even have charge me with anything: he can put me out of business just by deciding to. I don’t work for crooks - at least, not knowingly - but I do work for a lot of people who rely on my discretion. If Deacon starts taking an interest in what I do, half my clientele will vanish overnight.

  “David Ibbotsen isn’t the only one with a child to think about. I have a four-year-old daughter. I don’t want to raise her on Family Credit.”

  Daniel’s gaze was compassionate. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. You may have owed me something a week ago but not any more. Go home, I’ll walk from here.”

  “You said that yesterday.”

  “You could have done it yesterday. Today it’ll be easier: you know now nobody wants me dead.”

  But death wasn’t the only conceivable disaster. Brodie steeled herself. “I know what you’re thinking, Daniel. That bringing that little girl home will change how you feel about what happened. Replace terrible memories with something better. But what if she doesn’t come home? What if it all goes wrong? Can you face the possibility that Sophie Ibbotsen is going to die because of some decision you’ll be a party to?”

  She saw him think about that, the idea carving at his heart. “I don’t know. But if I walk away, if I refuse to help and Sophie dies, I know how I’ll feel then. I’m twenty-six years old. I don’t want to spend the next fifty years wondering if she’d be alive if I hadn’t been too scared to go up there today.

  “Sometimes trying to cover all the angles is just too difficult. You have to do what you think is right and hope for the best.”

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” said Brodie.

  “No. The road to hell is paved with fear. With the echoes of lies, and the ghosts of good deeds stillborn because people were afraid of the consequences.”

  Brodie had no more arguments to offer. She started the car again. “Then let’s do it.”

  Lance Ibbotsen met them at the back door. “David’s in the sitting room.” His voice was so low as to be barely audible, his face stiff and grey.

  Brodie needed to know what to expect. “What’s happened? I couldn’t follow what he was saying.”

  “No. He was upset. I offered to call, but we weren’t sure you’d come for me.”

  “Something came in the post. Is that right?”

  “The kidnappers must have decided things were taking too long. They sent us a go-faster message.”

  There was a box on the coffee table, the sort designed for posting flowers. It had been opened but it was closed now. Surreptitiously Brodie checked the bottom corners. At least it wasn’t leaking.

  David Ibbotsen dragged his eyes away from it long enough to offer her a thin smile. It was the first time they’d met. “Thanks for coming. I couldn’t think who else to call.”

  She nodded at the box. “What’s in it?”

  David Ibbotsen jerked one hand in unsteady invitation. Like Daniel, he seemed to be clinging to the edge of the abyss by his finger-nails. The only difference was that every day brought Daniel a little healing. Every day was another mountain between this man and his child, another nail in the crucifixion of his hopes. Every minute that passed could be the last before he learned of Sophie’s death. If the phone rang, if the doorbell chimed … Brodie imagined herself in his position and found it too painful to continue. Every second that she didn’t know where Paddy was or if she was safe would be like vitriol on raw flesh.

  The man needed help. Daniel was right: whatever he’d been a part of, they coul
dn’t leave him to suffer. Brodie set her teeth and reached for the box.

  Lance Ibbotsen saved her that at least. He lifted the lid. “It’s her hair.”

  As golden as sunshine, as fine as spring rain, it filled the box in tumbling profusion. As if a phoenix had been lining a nest for the chick it would never see.

  Brodie breathed in and out for half a minute, letting her heartbeat steady. Then she said, “What does your negotiator make of this?”

  David looked quickly at his father. He wasn’t the least bit like him, or even as he must have been at thirty-five. The bones were thicker, neither so long nor so angular, and better covered. He was a good-looking man, or would have been when his cheeks were not sunken nor his eyes red with rubbing. He looked as if he hadn’t slept since this began and was at the end of his strength. “Tell them.”

  Ibbotsen nodded, once, crisply. “He’s gone. The kidnappers refused to deal with him any more. I don’t know why - they must have thought he was spinning things out, that we’d settle quicker with him out of the picture. They said they wouldn’t talk to him again, that if we couldn’t talk direct they wouldn’t waste any more time. They said they’d kill Sophie and disappear, and it would be our fault.”

  Brodie frowned. It seemed the sort of thing that would be said at some stage in every hostage negotiation. “And because of that your negotiator left?”

  Ibbotsen sniffed. “Not exactly. He said they were just trying to up the stakes. He said we shouldn’t fall for it. He also said, of course, that the final decision was ours.”

  “And you gave him his marching orders.” The one thing they’d done right they hadn’t been strong enough to abide by.

  “Call me a cynic,” growled the old man. “But he had less than us to lose and more to gain by making it last. We weren’t getting anywhere. I paid him off.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Brodie. “He had his reputation to lose, and that may have meant almost as much to him as Sophie does to you. If he loses a hostage he may never get another client. He makes a lot of money doing this, but only because he’s successful. You lost an ally.”

  Lance and his son traded a quick glance. “We didn’t think of it that way,” mumbled David. “I’m not sure it would have mattered if we had. They threatened to kill her. Sophie: my daughter. They threatened to kill her! You can’t call a bluff like that.”

  “You couldn’t,” said Brodie. “A professional negotiator could.” Still, the deed was done. The negotiation was compromised, he wouldn’t come back on board now if they asked him. “When did the box arrive?”

  “Forty minutes ago, just before I called you.” David passed a hand across his mouth. “One of the neighbours brought it round. It had been left on his doorstep by mistake.”

  “That wasn’t a mistake,” said Brodie. “They knew they couldn’t get to your front door without being spotted. Your neighbour: does he have a security camera?” These were all valuable properties, serious security would be the order of the day.

  “No, he has Rottweilers.” Which might have been even more of a deterrent but wouldn’t be able to give a description.

  “Was there a note or are we still waiting for them to call?”

  “There’s a message in the box.”

  A sheet of computer listing paper nestled in the golden hair.

  This is between us. It can only be resolved between us. Do as we say and you’ll have the rest of your granddaughter back inside twenty-four hours.

  We won’t tolerate any more delays. Buy the child’s life or we’ll return her dead body free of charge. Find a go-between to bring us the money and return with the child. We’ll call tonight and tell her where to go.

  “Her?” Brodie’s voice was ribbed with presentiment.

  Ibbotsen shrugged. “Obviously they’d rather deal with a woman. If that’s what they want, that’s how we’ll do it. I’m not fighting them any more. They can have everything they want, including the money. Will you take it to them?”

  Disturbed as she was at the idea, the glance she cast Daniel carried a certain wry humour. So it wasn’t his help they needed, it was hers. He didn’t return the look, or even seem to notice it. All his attention was on David Ibbotsen. Of course, it wasn’t the first time they’d met.

  “Will you?” asked David. “Please. We’ll pay you …”

  “My God, you’re at it again!” exclaimed Brodie. “I never knew a family with such rotten judgement when it comes to money! Yes, I’ll help. And no, I don’t want paying. And so help me, if either one of you flashes his chequebook at me again, I’ll deck him!”

  Having gained their full attention, she took a seat. “Now. If you’d kept your negotiator on the payroll he’d have told you that the contents of that box change everything.”

  “I don’t need him to tell me that,” growled Ibbotsen. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

  “I think you do. You seem to think Sophie’s in more danger today that she was a week ago. Well, I’m not convinced she’s in danger at all. Not today or for the immediate future.”

  The three men stared at her as if she’d thrown off her clothes and commenced a fan dance on the coffee table. She found their interest gratifying, was in no hurry to move on.

  Finally, more or less in concert, Daniel said, “Are you sure?” and David said in anguish, “That’s my daughter’s hair!” and Ibbotsen growled, “You want to explain?”

  She answered them all. “Yes, I’m pretty sure. I don’t think Sophie’s in danger because that box contains the one bit of her that came off without hurting and will grow back in a few months. It could have been her ear, or a finger, or any one of a dozen body parts that can be removed without endangering a little girl’s life by anyone brute enough to do it. But it was her hair. Not a drop of blood, not a tear, was spilt. Ask yourselves why.”

  “Because there’s a limit to the depths even kidnappers will sink to!” cried David in distress. “They didn’t need to maim her to gain our co-operation, and they knew that.”

  “Actually,” said Brodie, “there are no limits to the depths kidnappers will sink to. People who like children don’t abduct them - except in certain circumstances where money isn’t the issue. We’ll come back to that in a minute. And after the last twelve days they could be forgiven for thinking they’d have to do something pretty extraordinary to get your co-operation. This was it - her hair?”

  “No,” whispered David. His eyes were afraid. He’d thought Brodie was here to help him. Instead she was raising fresh obstacles to the safe recovery of his child. “This was just the start. If this doesn’ t work either, maybe she’ll come home a piece at a time.”

  “For God’s sake!” snarled Ibbotsen; but he couldn’t stop the picture imprinting behind his eyes. “Look, it’s over. They’ve won. I want you to take them the money and hopefully come back with my granddaughter.”

  Brodie shrugged. “It’s your money, spend it how you like. But I doubt it’ll bring Sophie back.”

  The Ibbotsens, father and son, stared at her as if she was threatening to kill the child herself.

  Daniel said softly, “You said there are times when money isn’t the issue. You said you’d get back to that.”

  She gave him an appreciative nod. At least somebody, besides her, was still thinking. “Yes. Children aren’t always kidnapped for ransom. Sometimes they’re kidnapped because someone wants a child. Either that child, or any child.”

  Ibbotsen said, uncertainly, “Like women who take babies from hospitals?”

  “Well, that’s one example,” said Brodie. “Though at five Sophie is probably too old for that. They want a baby they can pass off as their own.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” demanded David, desperation contorting his features like fury. “White slavery?”

  “I’m talking about tug-of-love children,” said Brodie calmly. “Mr Ibbotsen, who is Sophie’s mother?”

  Chapter 16

  Ibbotsen said, “Marie?” and his vo
ice was incredulous.

  David said sharply, “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Why absurd?” asked Brodie. “Clearly from your reaction Sophie’s mother is still alive. Why couldn’t she be trying to get her daughter back?”

  David was looking at her as if she were mad. “Because of the ransom demands. Whoever did this doesn’t want Sophie - they want half a million pounds.”

  “That’s certainly what they said,” nodded Brodie. “Sometimes people lie. Tell me this. If you thought Marie had snatched Sophie from the playground, what would you have done?”

  Ibbotsen didn’t hesitate. “Called the police.”

  “And she’d have been picked up within minutes. But you didn’t do that, did you?”

  “Of course not. They said -” Understanding was like a crack growing in the ice-field eyes. “You mean, the ransom thing could have been a smoke-screen?”

  “Where does Marie live?”

  “In Brittany.”

  “Is she French?”

  “Oh yes,” said David feelingly. “But -”

  Brodie cut him off with a wave. “Let’s just follow this through. You married a French woman, you had a daughter, and then you separated.”

  “Divorced.”

  “She went back to France?”

  “This is nonsense,” insisted David in growing desperation. “It has nothing to do with Marie.”

  Ibbotsen answered for him. “It was the best thing.”

  There was plainly a sub-text. Brodie raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  “She needed drying-out. It made more sense to use a clinic close to her parents’ home. The marriage was over by then, there was no affection left between them.”

  “Your daughter-in-law was an alcoholic?”

  “Is an alcoholic,” said Ibbotsen. “You can stop drinking. You can’t stop being an alcoholic.”

  “And did she? - stop drinking.”

  He avoided her eyes. “I’m not sure. She left the clinic - I know because I paid the bill. I have no way of knowing if that was the end of her drinking or if she went back to it later. We haven’t seen her for three years.”