Flesh and Blood

by Bill Kitson

  Should Eve accuse me at any future point of tempting providence, I will remind her of that statement.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As we adjourned to the kitchen, lured by Mary’s offer of freshly baked scones I reflected on the power of people’s habits. Most families foregather in their kitchen, except when the television draws them together, and it seemed that even in a house like Barton Manor with elegant, comfortable reception rooms, that tradition still held.

  The scones were delicious, and it was only when I had finished the second and was pondering the wisdom of going for a third, and risking Eve’s condemnation, that I glanced out of the window and noticed that it was already dark outside.

  I looked at the kitchen clock. It was just after five o’clock. ‘Shouldn’t Tony and the girls be back by now?’ I asked.

  Robert glanced at his watch. ‘Yes, they should, but I don’t think they’ll be far away. Tony would have called if there had been a problem.’

  He was right of course, and I relaxed. If Robert wasn’t concerned there was no point in me becoming anxious. I made the difficult decision to forego a third scone, opting instead for another mug of tea. With the others also partaking, we discussed the outcome of the case, as we saw it. Victoria was the one who was most upset by our revelations, expressing her sorrow that her successor was suspected of being a cold-blooded serial killer.

  ‘I never had much to do with Rufus Locke. I met him on one or two archaeological digs when he was a student, and recall that he was fascinated by the Arthurian legend. Later, when I read various papers he’d written, I found it hard to come to terms with the way he allowed supposition and theory to enter his work and presented them as facts. Having said that, I would never have thought him capable of the sort of wickedness you have ascribed to him.’

  She looked at me, and it seemed almost as if she was pleading for the right answer as she asked, ‘Do you think those runic messages were part of the plot to defraud Robert’s brother, or do you believe those carvings actually exist? I mean as ancient inscriptions, not as modern ones fabricated as the basis for deceit?’

  ‘I can’t say that they are definitely genuine,’ I told her, choosing my words carefully. ‘I think it’s highly probable that even if it did start out as a plot to defraud Stephen, somewhere along the way it got overtaken when someone discovered that at least part of what they were putting together was actually true.’

  ‘How do you work that out?’ Robert asked.

  ‘The key lies not only with the runes, but also with Domenico’s journal. The fact that someone; and we must assume it to have been Stephen, went to so much trouble to encrypt the messages and hide the journal so carefully suggests that they believed them to be valuable and worth protecting. Any doubts I had were more or less removed when I learned what Domenico and his companions were sent to England to retrieve. Of course, it may have been pure wishful thinking on Stephen’s part, knowing the reputation of what they were seeking and how it might offer a miracle cure for what ailed him. That would make him susceptible to fraud; but only if the confidence tricksters were aware of his illness.’

  ‘I’d be very interested to take a look at that journal,’ Victoria remarked. ‘Having wrestled with those runes a straightforward translation from Latin should be far easier. The journal might offer a fresh insight into certain areas of life in Britain in the twelfth century, as seen from an outsider’s point of view. There is never a point when a historian can have too much evidence to work with.’

  ‘I would also like to know where on earth Stephen obtained the manuscript,’ Robert said. ‘I somehow can’t imagine him spending countless hours delving through dusty archives.’ He shrugged. ‘But then I barely knew him, so who am I to say.’

  ‘There could be any number of places where he might have found it,’ Victoria told him. ‘I can think of dozens off the cuff. Some are places where a vast majority of the works they store haven’t seen the light of day for centuries. Much of the stuff is mundane, I grant you, but the sheer volume of the material means that it would take a team of historians decades to wade through every manuscript.’

  As she was speaking, the telephone, which had an extension in the kitchen, rang. Robert answered it, and as he listened to the caller I saw tension in his expression that hadn’t been there earlier. ‘Better stay where you are and ring me back one way or the other.’

  He looked up, his expression bleak. ‘That was Tony. The girls haven’t turned up at the place he arranged to meet them. He’s been waiting there almost an hour.’

  ‘Could they have gone to the wrong place?’ Eve asked.

  ‘Hardly, they were to wait by the town clock in the market place.’

  We attempted to reassure him, suggesting that Alison and Tammy had probably been so engrossed in their shopping expedition that they had failed to notice the time, but I don’t think Robert was convinced. Nor do I think we really believed that was what had happened. A measure of Robert’s concern was that when Bishop rang back soon afterwards, reporting that the girls still hadn’t turned up, his immediate reaction was to involve the police.

  However, his call to Barton-le-Dale didn’t produce the result he wanted. He was informed that Holmes and Pickersgill were out, and would not return until next morning. Having declined to leave a message, Robert put the phone down and told us the bad news. Frustrating though it was, the inability to contact the police actually worked in our favour, although it didn’t appear that way at the time.

  Within minutes of Robert’s abortive call, the phone rang again. He grabbed the receiver, obviously hoping that it would be Bishop with good news, or failing that Alison and Tammy to say why they weren’t at the rendezvous.

  Although we were unable to hear the caller’s words, Robert’s expression spoke volumes. It was obviously not Bishop or the girls, and what he was hearing was certainly not to his liking. He signalled to Eve and me to join him and tilted the receiver so that we could catch what was being said. If he had looked bleak earlier, his face was now grim; etched with fear.

  The voice of the caller was harsh, grating; the message uncompromising, the threat potent. ‘You have something of mine, Pengelly. Now, I have something of yours. I’m talking about your two pet whores. Which of them is your favourite, or do you take them in turn? They are safe –at least for the time being. However, some of my associates have ideas about them, and restraining their animal instincts might take some doing. So, their continued health and well-being is up to you. Here’s how it works. If you involve the police – your pet whores will die. If you fail to follow my instructions to the letter – they will die. You must be aware by now what that dreadful weapon is capable of. Your brother discovered that to his cost. It was a just reward for the evil life he had led. Even to the bitter end he attempted to cheat his way out of trouble, but he paid the price for one deceit too many. Believe me, I shall not hesitate to do the same to these whores once my associates have slaked their desire on them. I can make theirs a quick ending, or I can ensure they suffer long hours of torment, with such agony that they will plead for the release that death will bring. Their lives are in your hands.’

  ‘Tell me what you want.’ Robert’s voice was flat, seemingly emotionless.

  ‘What I want is simple. I want the runic inscriptions your brother stole from me when I was unable to get to them. Not the fake ones he tried to palm me off with; I want the originals. Do you understand what I am talking about?’

  ‘Yes, you’re talking about the ones in the photos. The ones carved on stone tablets.’

  ‘Correct, and I want you to deliver them to me personally. I will call you tomorrow to give you instructions regarding the time and place.’

  The caller hung up.

  Although we tried to console Robert, it was of no avail. He wouldn’t listen to our platitudes, nor could I blame him. It was only after Tony Bishop had phoned again, been advised of the situation, and told to return to the manor that Eve took control of the situ
ation, displaying that combination of care and determination I have heard referred to as tough love.

  ‘Self-recrimination and mooning about feeling sorry for yourself and going frantic with worry isn’t going to help Alison or Tammy. You must demonstrate your resolve and show you can cope with a crisis. Believe that they will be freed and returned to us unscathed, anything less than that is untenable. Whatever you fear might be the outcome and no matter how had it might seem at the moment, the surest way of bringing about a bad ending is by caving in and bowing to the kidnappers’ demands.’

  ‘It’s all very well you saying that,’ Robert protested, ‘and I do know that I must try and be strong, but what can I do? I feel so helpless, sitting here waiting for that sick bastard to phone. He holds all the cards. No way can I do anything that might endanger Alison.’

  ‘I agree; there is nothing you can do at the moment. It must be terribly frustrating and heart-rending, having to wait. The worst part is that as things stand we’re unable to make any sort of plans. We have to see what he comes up with in his instructions.’

  ‘Eve’s right,’ I told him. ‘If you panic, you play right into their hands. I read an article about abductions in America, and kidnappers rely on their victims’ nearest and dearest caving-in as the surest way of forcing home their demands. The advice the writer gave is that the best way to combat the threat is to stay calm and make what plans you can while appearing to be doing exactly what they tell you to.’

  It was all sound advice, even though the part about the article came purely from my imagination, but as things stood, I dare not reveal my most chilling thought. It was only later, once I had managed to get Eve alone that I was able to voice my deepest fear. ‘We have to ignore the kidnappers’ demands, whatever the instructions are. We have to rescue the girls at all cost.’

  ‘Why do you say that? If he really is prepared to trade Alison and Tammy for those runic inscriptions, wouldn’t it be far easier and much less dangerous to allow the exchange to go ahead without interference?’

  ‘He isn’t going to let that happen. Locke has no intention whatsoever of exchanging the girls. He will murder them as soon as he gets his hands on those photos.’ I paused before adding the thought that even I had refused to entertain up to that point. ‘That is, if he hasn’t already killed them.’

  ‘How do you know that? You can’t possibly be certain that’s what he’ll do. Or is this some more words of wisdom from that imaginary American writer you dreamed up?’

  I smiled. ‘I didn’t imagine for one minute that would fool you. As to me being certain of what he intends, the answer is simple, and has nothing to do with a normal kidnap scenario. The plain fact is that Alison and Tammy will have to die because they will certainly have recognised Rufus Locke as the man who abducted them. I bet that’s how he staged the kidnap. They might have been slightly surprised to see their history tutor in Barton-le-Dale today, but they wouldn’t have been suspicious because there was nothing to connect him to the murders. Not without the information we discovered in Newark. All he would need to do is spin them some tale about his presence; something along the lines of going to view a valuable artefact dating back to the reign of King Rudolph the Red-Nosed or whatever, and inviting them to come along. Once he got them away from the main streets the rest would be easy. Barton-le-Dale is hardly a bustling metropolis.’

  ‘And having given himself away he can’t afford to let them live, because he believes they are the only ones who could point the finger of suspicion at him. Is that correct?’

  I nodded. ‘OK,’ Eve continued, ‘I accept that. So how do we stop him?’

  ‘There’s only one way, and that involves danger for Robert. When that phone call comes tomorrow morning, he must make sure that Locke understands that Robert knows who he is; knows all about him and Annie. That way, if Locke is capable of rational thought, he will see that there is no mileage in killing the girls, at least not until such time as he has disposed of Robert. If we can get Robert to achieve that, we might be buying ourselves a bit more time to try and figure out where he’s holding them prisoner and how to rescue them.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, but it sounds very risky.’

  ‘Maybe, but it’s very much the lesser of two evils.’

  Neither of us got much sleep that night. Next morning we were up and about far earlier than normal, aware of the crucial phone call that could come at any time. Nevertheless, Robert was up before us, and from the haggard expression on his face I wondered if he had been able to sleep, or even if he had gone to bed.

  Whether it was Locke’s intention to exert the maximum possible pressure on Robert I will never know, but as time passed without the call coming in, we were able to tell him of what we had determined the previous night.

  The instructions we gave him with regard to the phone call were explicit. ‘Whatever he says, no matter where the conversation is heading, at some point you must address him as Professor Locke and if you can achieve it, make it perfectly clear that you know everything there is to know about him. By that I mean that you know he’s related to Annie Flood, and that you know about Stephen’s affair with her, and the resulting twins. Also mention Locke’s illness if you get the chance.’

  ‘Won’t all that stuff enrage him and make him more desperate?’

  ‘On the contrary – it should make him realise there’s no point in trying to hide his identity any longer. It’s absolutely essential for Alison and Tammy’s sake that you do this, Robert. He knows that they will have identified him, and therefore he might stand a chance of getting away with it if he eliminates them. However, once he realises that you also know who he is and everything about him, with luck he should know that violence against the girls would be futile.’

  I tried to put the last part as diplomatically as possible, but on seeing Robert grimace I guessed that I’d been less than successful. Nevertheless, with Eve’s endorsement of my policy, Robert accepted the need to put the message across. It was the first fragment of our burgeoning plan to rescue Alison and Tammy. The second, far larger piece came courtesy of DS Holmes.

  It wasn’t until shortly after ten o’clock that the phone rang. Robert answered it, and I saw the tension ease from his face. This wasn’t Locke calling. ‘Yes, he’s here. Just a second, I’ll get him.’

  He held out the receiver, and I noticed he had the mouthpiece covered by his free hand. ‘It’s DS Holmes. You won’t tell him what’s happened, will you?’

  ‘I’ll be as discreet as I can.’

  I listened as Holmes brought me up to date with events in Leeds. ‘We went to that address along with a couple of officers from Leeds CID. There was no sign of either Locke or the twins. We did establish that they lived there, but a neighbour we spoke to said she hadn’t seen them for weeks. However, nobody seemed to know where they’ve gone or when they’re expected to return.’

  I thanked Holmes and before ending the call, asked him, ‘Will you be in your office all day? I’m only asking in case I get any more ideas that I might want to share with you.’

  Holmes confirmed that he and Pickersgill would be available should I require them. As I repeated what Holmes had said, once I reached the part about Locke’s whereabouts I noticed a frown on Eve’s face. Past experience taught me to wait, knowing that she was developing a line of thought. After a few minutes she looked at me.

  ‘Adam, do you remember what Emma’s father told us that night at the Crown and Anchor? Didn’t he say that Annie’s uncle bought a cottage in Langstrop and used to cycle down to Barton-le-Moors?’

  ‘That’s correct, and if I remember rightly he also said that the cottage was now being used as a holiday let, didn’t he?’

  Eve nodded, adding, ‘What Emma’s father didn’t say was if the property had been sold. I’ll bet that’s where he and the twins have been holed up all this time; and I also reckon it’s where they’re keeping Alison and Tammy.’

  She had barely finished speaking when the phon
e rang again, and this time it was the call we’d been expecting; the one we feared. As Robert went to answer it, Eve had a last piece of advice for him. ‘Remember, don’t let Locke intimidate you. Be a bit arrogant –like Adam. Most important of all, make sure you get your message across. He must understand that you know virtually everything there is to know about him.’

  At any other time I might have objected to that slur on my character, but the situation was far too tense to be picky. The insult served its purpose though. Robert smiled faintly, squared his shoulders, and picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment, then cut in, interrupting the caller in mid-flow. ‘Good morning to you, Professor Locke. How are you today? Ill, I hope. You’ve left it a bit late to call, haven’t you? Not an early riser, perhaps, or is the illness getting the better of you?’

  Although we couldn’t make out what Locke was saying, the agitated tone of his voice told us that Robert’s strategy was working –so far. Robert listened for a few seconds before replying. ‘Yes, of course I know who you are. I know all about you – and about your harlot niece Annie’s little bastards, my darling nephews? Although come to think of it, I don’t suppose the bastards are so little anymore, are they?’

  I hoped that Robert’s initial success hadn’t gone to his head. It was one thing to get Locke rattled, but driving him too far might push him over the edge. I tapped Robert on the shoulder, then made a downward motion with my hands. He nodded, accepting my signal to ease off. He listened again, before telling Locke, ‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t do that. It simply isn’t possible.’

  More agitated squawking followed, to which Robert said, ‘If you’ll let me get a word in edgeways, I’ll explain. This isn’t one of your lectures, you know. The reason I can’t do as you ask is because I can’t drive. I don’t have a driving licence; I’ve never owned a car, never even sat behind a steering wheel. I wouldn’t know the difference between a gear lever and a handbrake.’