by Paul Adam
The chief superintendent seemed pleased to hear from him. ‘Max, hello. How are you?’ he said warmly.
‘I’m OK,’ Max replied.
‘I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to you after the show the other night, but I thought it was absolutely brilliant. I was really impressed.’
‘Thanks. And thanks again for taking part.’
‘It was nothing – I enjoyed it. Thank you for testing those cuffs for us. So what can I do for you?’
‘I want to ask you a favour,’ Max said.
‘A favour? Of course. What?’
‘Can I meet you? It will only take a few minutes.’
‘Meet me? Why, yes. When?’
‘As soon as possible.’ Max calculated how much time he had – when he’d need to leave for Henley. ‘Is there any chance today? I could come and see you after I finish school.’
‘Let me check my diary. I have a meeting at three, but that shouldn’t last more than an hour. What about four thirty? Would that suit you?’
‘Yes, that would be great.’
‘You know where I am, don’t you? Come to the main desk and ask for me.’
‘Thanks – that’s really good of you.’
‘What’s this all about, Max?’
‘I’ll tell you when I see you.’
Max had often seen the outside of New Scotland Yard on TV crime reports – the mirror-glass windows to stop people seeing in, the distinctive triangular revolving sign by the main entrance – but he’d never been inside the building. The reception area didn’t feel like a police station; it was more like the headquarters of a large international corporation – except that the two men and a woman behind the long counter were in uniform.
He asked for Detective Chief Superintendent Richardson, said he was expected, and was told to wait in the area to one side where there were chairs for visitors. He didn’t sit down. The building made him nervous. The search of his house was still very fresh in his memory. He had visions of police officers swooping down on him and dragging him away to the cells.
The chief superintendent took only a few minutes to appear. He shook hands with Max and gave him a welcoming smile. ‘You want to come upstairs to my office, or do you fancy a bit of refreshment? There’s a café just round the corner that does a nice range of cakes.’
‘The café,’ Max said without hesitation. He didn’t want to linger any longer than necessary in police headquarters.
The café was perfect for their meeting – small enough to feel comfortable, but with plenty of space between tables so that no one could overhear their conversation. Chief Superintendent Richardson bought himself a cup of tea, a Coke for Max and two chocolate brownies.
‘So what’s this favour you want to ask?’ he said, adding sugar to his tea and stirring it.
Max studied him for a moment, thinking again about his reasons for asking the detective for help and deciding that he was doing the right thing. His instincts hadn’t let him down – Richardson was definitely a man who could be trusted.
‘Do you think I’m a terrorist?’ Max said.
Richardson stopped stirring his tea and eyed him narrowly, his expression puzzled. ‘Is that a joke?’
‘No, I’m serious.’
Max had brought with him the copy of the search warrant that the police had given Consuela. He took it out of his rucksack and put it on the table between them. ‘The police came to our house yesterday evening. They searched it from top to bottom.’
‘Searched it?’ Richardson was incredulous. ‘Your house?’
‘This is the warrant they had.’
The detective read the sheet of paper, his eyes opening wide when he reached the section giving the purpose of the search. Max watched him carefully. Richardson seemed genuinely shocked.
‘I don’t understand,’ the detective said. ‘This doesn’t make sense. Who were the officers? They must have given you their names.’
‘I don’t know who the police were,’ Max replied. ‘They didn’t show any ID. But the man in charge was called Rupert Penhall.’
‘Penhall?’ Richardson frowned. ‘I don’t know the name, and that’s odd because I thought I knew pretty much every senior officer in the Met.’
‘He wasn’t a policeman.’
‘How do you know?’
Max hesitated. Don’t complicate things, he told himself. Richardson doesn’t need to know you’ve met Penhall before.
‘He said he wasn’t.’
‘And you say he was in charge? What did he look like?’
‘Short and plump. A fat face with red cheeks.’
Richardson fixed Max with a penetrating stare. ‘I have to ask you this, Max … are you mixed up in anything illegal?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure about that? This warrant was provided by a magistrate. They would have needed a good reason to issue it.’
Max had thought long and hard about how much he should tell the chief superintendent and had decided to keep things simple, to be selective about the information he gave him. It was safer that way. He had confidence in the detective as an individual, but he wasn’t so sure of the Met as a whole. It was a big police force and there might be other officers who were not so trustworthy.
‘All I’ve been doing is looking into my mum’s case. You know about my mum, of course. There’s no way she killed my dad. I went to Santo Domingo at half-term to see if I could find evidence to prove her innocence.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes. None of the facts added up. The Santo Domingo police, their judges, are all crooked. But nothing I’ve done has anything to do with terrorism. That search warrant is rubbish. I think someone in Britain is trying to stop me investigating my dad’s disappearance.’
‘Why would they want to do that?’
‘I don’t know. But this man Penhall took a folder of mine. Stuff about my dad. I want to get it back from him. It’s really important. I thought you might be able to help me.’
Chief Superintendent Richardson took a notebook from his jacket pocket and wrote down Penhall’s name. Then he picked up the search warrant. ‘Can I hang on to this? I’ll make a few enquiries, see what I can find out. I can’t make any promises, Max, but there does seem to be something strange going on here. I’ll give you a call when I’ve something to tell you.’
‘Thanks. I really appreciate that. I’ve got a new mobile phone.’
Max gave him the number. Richardson scribbled it in his notebook, then took a bite of his brownie.
‘Are you sure there isn’t more to this, Max?’
Max didn’t want to lie to him. ‘Yes, there is,’ he admitted. ‘I can’t tell you the rest at the moment. I need to find out what’s going on first.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise? This warrant – anything to do with terrorism – those are very serious matters. Why don’t you tell me the whole story now?’
‘Because I don’t know the whole story. I’m sorry,’ Max replied. ‘But I do need your help.’
The chief superintendent regarded him intently for a long moment. Then he gave a nod of understanding. ‘OK, have it your own way, Max. I’ll do what I can and be in touch.’
Max noticed that the front door had been repaired when he got home forty minutes later. A new lock had been fitted to replace the one the police had broken and two extra bolts added, one at the top and one at the bottom of the door. Consuela was alone in the kitchen, sorting out some household bills. They had another choreographed conversation about Max’s day at school for the benefit of the bug in the wall and whoever was listening in. They were both less stilted, less awkward than they’d been the day before. They knew that this little charade had to be as convincing as possible.
Then Max mouthed the question, Chris? and Consuela pointed to the basement door.
They went downstairs together. Chris was sitting on the floor, reading a biography of the legendary escapologist, Harry Houdini, who was one of Max’s all-time heroes and the i
nspiration behind many of his stage tricks. Max waited for Consuela to close the door before he spoke.
‘Our visit to Redmond Ashworth-Ames this evening – we need to discuss how we’re going to do it. The surveillance car is still outside, I noticed it on my way home. What if they try to follow us?’
‘You think they will?’ Chris said.
‘I don’t know. But I think I might have been followed to school this morning by another car. I’ve been working out how we might shake them off …’
Max outlined his plan. Consuela and Chris listened, then asked a few questions, looking for flaws in the plan, but Max had thought it all through thoroughly.
‘That’s pretty good,’ Chris said approvingly. ‘It’s certainly worth a try. When do we go?’
‘As soon as we can,’ Max replied.
Max and Consuela went back up to the kitchen. Consuela made a quick dinner of pasta and pepperoni, Max taking a plate down into the basement for Chris; then they were ready to leave.
Chris came upstairs quietly and went through into the garage with Max. Max removed a fifteen-centimetre nail from a drawer and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. Then he unlocked the main garage doors. There were two of them, big, old-fashioned wooden doors that opened outwards. Chris pushed one of the doors open a fraction and peered out through the gap while Max went back into the house.
Consuela was waiting for him in the hall. They left through the front door and walked across to where Consuela’s car was parked. Max glanced casually up the street. He could see the surveillance car seventy metres away and knew that the two men inside it could see him. They had a clear view of the front door and part of the drive. What they couldn’t see, though, were the garage doors. There was too much vegetation – high shrubs and a birch tree – along the boundary next to the drive that hid the garage from their line of sight.
Max went round to the passenger side of Consuela’s Nissan hatchback, where he knew he was invisible to the surveillance team. He opened the rear door of the car first and signalled to Chris. Chris pushed open the garage door just wide enough to squeeze through, closing it behind him. He scuttled out across the drive, crouching low, and dived into the back of the Nissan, lying down on the floor, where he was concealed by the front seats.
Max closed the car door and got into the front next to Consuela. She started the engine and they drove out onto the street, turning in the opposite direction to the watching men. Consuela checked her mirror. The dark blue car was pulling away from the kerb and coming after them.
‘They’re following,’ she said.
Max resisted the temptation to look round, but he shifted slightly in his seat so he could catch a glimpse of the Avensis in the wing mirror on his door. It was fifty or sixty metres back. He could see the shapes of the two men in the front, but not the detail of their faces.
Consuela turned left at the end of the street and accelerated. The Toyota stayed with them, always about fifty metres behind. Consuela made no attempt to shake off the tail. She drove at a steady thirty miles an hour for ten minutes before slowing and turning into the car park of the supermarket where she did most of the shopping.
‘There’s a space over there,’ Max said, pointing. ‘Where that red car’s just leaving.’
Consuela swung into the next lane and parked between a grey people carrier and a white van. She and Max got out, leaving Chris curled up on the floor in the back of the car. Max looked around. The Avensis was reversing into a space a couple of rows away. Max gauged its position in relation to the supermarket building. Perfect: it was exactly where he wanted it.
‘OK?’ he said to Consuela.
She nodded and they walked towards the supermarket entrance. As they entered the store, Max glanced back discreetly. One of the men from the Avensis was following them. He was in his twenties, a stocky guy in a brown sports jacket and green striped tie.
Max turned to Consuela. ‘One of them is right behind us. I’ll come and find you,’ he said, then veered away from her and headed for the checkouts, walking quickly, but not so fast that he drew attention to himself.
The supermarket exit was at the side of the building, round the corner from the entrance. Max paused before he went through the automatic glass doors and looked back across the store. The man in the brown jacket was just coming in from the car park. He didn’t look Max’s way – he was concentrating on Consuela. He watched her disappear down one of the shopping aisles and set off after her. Max hurried out. He had to be quick, do what he had to do before Brown Jacket realized he wasn’t inside the building.
The Avensis was in the front section of the car park, from where the driver could see the supermarket entrance, but not the exit. Max circled round in a wide loop to approach it from behind and slightly to the side so he wouldn’t be seen if the driver happened to glance in his mirror.
When he was twenty metres away, Max bent down, pretending to tie his shoelace, and surveyed the car park. A few customers were transferring their shopping from their trolleys to their car boots, but none of them was taking any notice of him. Max ducked down behind a silver Volvo and snaked away across the tarmac, using his elbows and knees to propel himself. He slid underneath a Mitsubishi 4x4 with a high wheelbase and emerged immediately behind the Avensis. The driver was looking at Consuela’s car and the supermarket beyond it, so he wasn’t paying any attention to his rear. Even if he’d chanced to glance in his mirrors, he wouldn’t have seen Max, for he was half underneath the Avensis’s back bumper, working the nail carefully into the rear nearside tyre.
He took it slowly, piercing the rubber tread of the tyre and gradually enlarging the hole to let the air out a little at a time. He didn’t want any loud hiss of escaping gas to give him away. Nor did he want the car to suddenly lurch down to one side. He had to do it by degrees so that the driver was completely unaware of what was happening.
Very gently, the tyre deflated until it was completely flat. Max withdrew the nail and slithered swiftly away under the neighbouring vehicles, standing up at the end of the row and walking back towards the supermarket exit. He went in through the sliding glass doors, past the checkouts, and started searching for Consuela. He glanced at his watch. He’d been absent for only about seven or eight minutes. The man in the brown jacket, presumably still following Consuela, wouldn’t have had much time to wonder where Max was. Hopefully he would simply assume they’d split up to do the shopping more quickly and efficiently and that Max was in a different section of the massive store, picking up items for their trolley – an assumption that Max had every intention of confirming.
He grabbed a couple of packets of breakfast cereal, then a bag of pasta and some rice, and carried them to the end of the aisle. He went past the deli counter and the in-store bakery and saw Consuela in the dairy aisle, picking up a packet of cheese. Brown Jacket was fifteen metres away from her, pretending to study the display of yoghurts and creams. Max walked past him, their shoulders almost brushing, and dumped the items he was carrying into Consuela’s trolley.
‘What else do we need?’ he said, raising his voice a little so Brown Jacket would hear him.
‘Washing powder,’ Consuela said. ‘Get a big box. And biscuits – whichever ones you fancy.’
‘OK.’
Max moved off into the stacks again, collecting the washing powder and two packets of chocolate biscuits and bringing them back to the trolley.
‘That’s pretty much it, I think,’ Consuela said.
They went to the nearest checkout and paid for their shopping, then returned to their car and loaded the bags into the boot. Max saw the man in the brown jacket getting into the Avensis.
‘Successful?’ Chris asked from the floor in the back of the Nissan.
Max climbed into the front beside Consuela. ‘Piece of cake,’ he said. ‘If they’re following us to Henley, they’re going to have one hell of a long push.’
Consuela pulled out and headed for the exit. Two rows away, the Avensis w
as also on the move – although not for long. The driver could tell immediately that something was wrong. His car was tilted over to one side at the back and there was the sound of shredding rubber followed by the harsh clatter of metal wheel rims on tarmac.
Max looked round and saw the Avensis lurch to a stop in the middle of the car park. The two men got out and stared in dismay at their flat tyre. Then they looked up, watching helplessly as Consuela’s Nissan turned out onto the main road and sped away into the distance.
SIX
They headed west out of London, taking the M4 past Slough before turning off near Maidenhead and continuing on to Henley. Consuela drove all the way, Max next to her. Chris sat in the back of the car, keeping an eye on the road behind in case they were still being tailed. They’d got rid of the Avensis, but there was always the possibility that there might be other surveillance teams watching them – teams that they hadn’t managed to spot earlier. He saw nothing suspicious, however, and by the time they arrived in Henley they were sure they hadn’t been followed.
Redmond Ashworth-Ames lived in a village in the Chiltern hills to the northwest of Henley. It was a small, picturesque place, an open green in the centre surrounded by a few red-brick cottages and a thatched pub. Ashworth-Ames’s house was on the edge of the village, set back into the hillside with dense beech woods on the slope above it.
A middle-aged woman in black trousers and a blue cardigan greeted them at the door and said she was Alicia Ashworth-Ames, Redmond’s elder sister. She was a tall, thin woman with mousy brown hair and a tired face. Max, Consuela and Chris introduced themselves, then followed Alicia into the cottage. It was tiny – only two rooms and a kitchen downstairs and, Max guessed, no more than two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. There were exposed wooden beams in the ceilings, and doorways so low that Chris had to stoop to get through them.
