Trapped

by Isla Whitcroft

  Five minutes later, via back alleys and several brick walls, Cate had arrived at the first of the shopping streets. Most of the shops were shut for the siesta, but Cate spotted one still open, racks of clothes standing outside fluttering in the summer breeze.

  She darted across the road and grabbed a lightweight cotton dress that looked approximately her size. Then she went into the shop and headed straight for the changing room at the back before the elderly shopkeeper had even registered her presence. As she pulled the curtain across she finally heard sirens – several of them by the sound of it.

  She pulled her clothes off her bruised body, wincing as she did so. The dress fitted pretty much perfectly, but as Cate looked at herself in the mirror, she grimaced at the grubby-faced girl staring back at her. Frantically she pulled her dirty hair back into a ponytail and wiped her face with what was left of her trousers before reaching into her rucksack and taking out some euros.

  ‘Pardon, mademoiselle.’ The old lady was outside the changing room now, sounding puzzled.

  Cate pulled back the curtain suddenly, shoved the euros at the surprised lady, muttered an apology and was gone. She knew she had given her enough money to cover the cost of the new outfit and she had to hope that, if anyone came asking questions about the explosions, the old lady wouldn’t put two and two together.

  Ten minutes later, her dirty clothes dumped in a roadside bin, Cate slipped back into the garden of Le Ricochet, where everything seemed almost exactly as she had left it an hour or so before. Nancy and Tass were on the beach, surrounded by a host of glamorous-looking new-found friends. Wendy and Lulu were walking barefoot along the water’s edge, with Jules trailing behind them. There was no sign of Bill or the Catwalk II tender. Presumably he had gone back to the boat on his own.

  Cate sat cross-legged on the hot wooden jetty, waiting for the restaurant boat to take her back to the yacht. She knew she should call Marcus, but the thought of talking about what she had just seen made her feel sick.

  Through the slats in the wood she could see small shoals of fish darting amongst the shallows. Cate shaded her eyes and looked out across the blue sea, her mind churning as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Catwalk II was still there, a thing of glistening beauty as it pivoted on its moorings but it no longer felt like a safe berth against the world.

  While she made the journey, Cate hoped to be able to slip back onboard unnoticed and go straight to find Marcus. It would be easier to tell him her story face to face. But, as the restaurant boat approached the side of the yacht, she could see activity on the top deck. A few metres out, the pilot cut the engine on the little boat and drifted gently and expertly up to the steps on the rear of Catwalk II where, to her horror, Bill was waiting to grab the rope.

  ‘Hi, Cate,’ said Bill cheerfully. ‘Good afternoon?’

  It took all Cate’s inner strength to push down the knot of nausea in her stomach. It wouldn’t do to throw up on Bill’s shiny deck shoes, she thought wryly, although it was the least he deserved. But any flicker of emotion, any clue or hint that she had changed in her attitude towards Bill could, she knew, prove disastrous – if not fatal.

  ‘I got distracted shopping,’ she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘You know what us girls are like. Bought this dress. Do you like it?’

  She looked at Bill’s smiling face, and Cate had a vision of the Professor pleading for his life, trying to talk to Bill, to reason with him or offer him a bargain that would keep him alive. Or perhaps Bill had shot him without warning, coming up behind him and taking him by surprise.

  ‘Marcus was asking for you,’ said Bill as Cate scrambled up onto the hot white deck. ‘He wants some help in the kitchen.’

  ‘On my way,’ said Cate gratefully. Clever old Marcus, she thought. He would know she needed an excuse to talk to him.

  ‘Not so fast, buddy,’ said Bill, turning to face her full on. Her heart flipped – had Bill somehow found out about her adventures earlier in the day? ‘I need you up in the pilot’s bay first,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve got a problem ordering some parts and I need you to talk to the guy at the chandlery shop. It’s pretty cool having my own personal translator around. You know how rubbish I am at any foreign language.’

  Oh yeah? thought Cate, forcing herself to smile back at him. Like your fluent Russian?

  Half an hour later, Cate left the pilot’s bay, almost reeling with the effort of having to spend time in a confined space with Bill. His every move made her jumpy, she read double meanings into his words and felt sick when he came up close to her. But if Bill noticed any change in her behaviour he didn’t show any sign of it. Cate carried out her job – ordering some obscure fuel pump parts from a grumpy Frenchman – with success.

  All the while Bill was so funny and friendly, cheerful and kind that, more than once, Cate caught herself wondering if she had somehow imagined the events of the day, or even if Bill had a double. But perhaps that was the sign of a real psychopath, someone who could switch from kind to killer without ever once betraying himself to the outside world.

  As she finally headed towards the galley she could hear music and laughter coming from on the top deck. Nancy and Tass were clearly back and in party mode, entertaining the group of glamorous-looking people that they had met on the beach after lunch.

  ‘OK,’ said Marcus urgently, shutting the door of the galley behind her. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to call me. Tell me what happened today.’

  Cate was terrified that if she told him she would start to cry and never stop. Eventually, she remembered her phone. She pulled it out and motioned Marcus to come over, looking up at him mutely as she began to flip through the pictures.

  As the macabre slideshow came to an end, he touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘Who was it, Cate?’ he asked, in such a quiet voice that she hardly heard him. ‘Do you know who did this – who shot him?’

  Cate turned to him with a look of utter misery. ‘Bill,’ she said flatly. ‘Bill killed him.’

  CHAPTER 11

  Marcus stared back at her, stunned. ‘Cate, are you sure?’

  ‘You asked me to check out anyone who left the restaurant, so I did,’ she said, her voice dull and low. ‘Bill said he was going shopping, but he went to that house and went inside and I heard the shot. I broke in and I found, I found . . .’

  Marcus waited patiently.

  ‘I found the professor and he was only just dead. No one else went in or out of that house – it could only have been Bill who shot him. But just now he was talking, chatting, laughing like nothing had happened.’ She gulped and Marcus gave her a hug.

  ‘God, Cate, I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘But please, I have to know everything,’

  She told him, as simply as she could, and then turned to him again in terror. ‘I nearly died, Marcus, right there in the house. I was nearly blown to pieces.’ She was crying properly now, hot tears running down her cheeks. ‘It’s OK, Marcus,’ she continued, half laughing at his startled expression. ‘I don’t make a habit of blubbing. It’s just that it was pretty scary back there and I thought that if I died no one would have ever known how it happened or even find my body. It would have been so awful for my family.’

  ‘Pretty rough for you, too.’ Marcus smiled at her ruefully.

  ‘But it’s over now, yeah?’ Cate asked eagerly. ‘You can arrest Bill.’

  Marcus shook his head. ‘I wish it were that simple,’ he said, ‘but we still have too many questions unanswered. For a start, Bill could just be a hired hit man who knows nothing about the animals.

  ‘To crack this, we have to map the complete chain from start to finish. Who is behind this animal smuggling, who’s funding it and why, what are they really doing with those animals and where are they now. If we pull Bill in too soon he’ll shut up like a clam, and we’ll never know.’ Marcus suddenly looked exhausted and careworn. He rubbed at the dark patches under his eyes and then turned to face her full on.

  ‘Cate, you
have done an awesome job,’ he said. ‘Beyond my wildest expectations. I hate to do this to you but I have to ask you to dig deep and to keep going for a little while longer.’

  Cate looked at him in disbelief. ‘Jeez, Marcus, didn’t you hear me?’ she said angrily. ‘It was bad enough searching Nancy’s room with Ahmed breathing down my neck. I’ve been in fights with assassins and nearly been blown up by a bomb. My luck isn’t going to hold out much longer and if I learnt one thing today it’s that actually I would quite like to live.’

  Marcus sighed. ‘We still need proof of who is involved and we need to find those animals. I’m sorry, Cate, with or without you the case is far from over. But with you we have a far, far better chance of solving it quickly and before any one else gets killed.’

  The room fell quiet. Cate stared at Marcus as she tried to work out what to do next. She was just about to speak when there was a loud and anguished scream from upstairs.

  She and Marcus raced for the door and took the stairs to the upper deck three at a time. As they reached the top deck, Cate saw Nancy surrounded by her new-found, and now clearly very embarrassed, friends who were gradually backing away from her.

  She was gripping her mobile phone in a shaking hand. As she spotted Cate and Marcus she began to howl again. ‘The scumbag termites!’ She forced the words out between her sobs. ‘The parasites!’

  ‘She got a call from her agent,’ one of the guests whispered fearfully. ‘I think it’s bad news.’

  ‘Nancy,’ Cate spoke calmly, reaching out to touch the distraught woman on the arm. ‘Nancy, what’s happened?’

  Nancy turned slowly towards Cate, grabbing at her hand so tightly that Cate winced. ‘It’s the newspapers,’ Nancy said in a whisper. ‘They’ve got a pic of me dancing up close with Tass on that table and have run it next to a picture of my kids being taken to school yesterday by their nanny in the rain looking all miserable and sad. They’re saying I’m an unfit mother. They’ve even got a quote from the bleeding Ramibian ambassador saying that my adoption papers for Beech should be withdrawn. The cheek of the man!’ Her voice took on an indignant tone. ‘He didn’t say that when I coughed up for a playground for every village in his godforsaken dumpsville of a country.’

  ‘It must be awful for you,’ said Cate, ‘but no one will really believe that.’

  ‘Of course they will believe it.’ Lulu had a glacial look on her face as she stepped out of the crowd. ‘What about all those stores that have agreed to stock your organic children’s cosmetics? Great timing, Nancy!’

  Nancy stared at her PA incredulously before collapsing dramatically into the arms of the nearest man.

  Lulu continued, ‘That’s why I’m just about to book flights for all five of your children. They break up from school next week anyway so a few days won’t make any difference. They’ll be with us first thing tomorrow morning, followed shortly by a photographer friend of mine who will be doing some quick paparazzi shots of your lovely, warm, family holiday. The pictures will be leaked to the papers tomorrow evening and will be on everyone’s breakfast table the next morning. And tomorrow’s plans will have to change.’

  Nancy pushed the arms of her willing comforter away. ‘Lulu,’ she said, her face shining from her tears. ‘Lulu, you’re a diamond. Right guys, the party is back on.’

  ‘This is going to be fun,’ said Wendy sarcastically, sitting with a notebook in front of her in the downstairs mess. Around the table a crisis meeting was taking place which included Cate, Marcus, Lulu and Jules. Mikey was there to help out on security while, much to Cate’s relief, Bill was back upstairs, preparing to take the boat back to Antibes.

  ‘We’ve got about twelve hours to make this boat child-proof, to work out menus, sleeping arrangements and child care,’ she continued.

  ‘No nannies coming?’ said Jules, looking horrified.

  ‘No nannies,’ confirmed Lulu, filing her nails. ‘One is on holiday back in New York, the Bulgarian one had to rush home because someone was on their death bed and the one left on duty has just this minute texted me her notice. She’s going to put the five of them on the plane and never wants to see any of us again. Thank God I got her to sign a confidentiality clause.’

  ‘So that means, until we can get hold of another nanny, it’s just us,’ confirmed Wendy. ‘Well, food should be easy enough. Marcus, stock up on the frozen chips and nuggets and chocolate mini rolls.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ snapped Lulu. ‘Have you forgotten? Since she wrote that parenting book Nancy now insists that her children follow an organic, carefully balanced diet with a minimum of meat, no additives and definitely, definitely no sweets or sugar. Oak is allergic to eggs, by the way. Elm can’t eat any dairy, Ash reacts badly to gluten and little Willow hates citrus fruits. Beech is only two – will she need a bottle?’

  ‘In South Africa plenty of the kids would be happy to eat what they were given,’ said Wendy dryly. ‘Marcus can you cope with all those dietary whatsits?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Marcus, valiantly trying not to laugh. ‘Chicken and chips for breakfast it is.’

  ‘Good – I think,’ said Wendy doubtfully. ‘Now, Jules can move into the crew quarters and the five kids can share two cabins on the main deck.’ There was a gasp of horror from Jules which everyone ignored.

  ‘Now, childcare,’ Wendy continued. ‘I’ve arranged for a stand-in nanny from a local agency but she won’t be with us for a day or so. Now I’m going to be busy housekeeping. Which leaves . . .’

  There was a silence as everyone turned to look at Cate.

  ‘Me?’ she said incredulously. ‘Not me. I’ve never babysat in my life. I don’t even think I like kids. Especially not toddlers. And I wouldn’t know one end of a nappy from another if it hit me on the head.’

  ‘It might well do just that,’ Marcus teased.

  ‘Look, Cate,’ said Wendy, putting on her reasonable tone. ‘You’re nearer in age to them than any of us. You must remember what it was like to be a child and, in any case, it’s better than making beds and cleaning. Enjoy! Have fun on the beach, take them out for the day, buy them ice lollies – that kind of thing. We’ll all help out when we can and we’ll give you a really good allowance.’

  Mikey shifted in his seat. ‘Tass said to tell you that the kids can come onto his yacht for a day so that he and Nancy can get some peace,’ he said flatly. ‘Ride on the power boat, go on the golf range, have the run of the cinema and the gaming room, that kind of thing. Any use?’

  Wendy looked at Cate. Marcus was looking at her too, and now his expression was deadly serious. She knew exactly what he was thinking – The Good Times. This was far too good an opportunity to miss.

  She feigned reluctance but inside her heart was racing. ‘Oh, OK,’ she said, still trying to sound as if her arm was being twisted.

  ‘Good girl.’ Wendy leant over and gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Now, guys, let’s get to it. Cate, the kids are due in at eight tomorrow morning so I suggest you get an early night and we’ll see to the aftermath of the party.’

  Three hours later, Catwalk II was nosing quietly through the inky black sea back towards the bay of Cannes. Finally, up ahead of them, the battlements of Antibes loomed out of the darkness.

  The engines slowed as Bill began the tricky job of negotiating his way around the super yachts that were too vast to be moored in the marina and Cate amused herself by looking at the names and guessing who was rich enough to own them. Then suddenly, she realised, with a start, she was looking up at the blood red colours of The Good Times. The boat was easily one hundred metres long, dwarfing Catwalk II with its five-storey height, and Cate counted twenty-five portholes on the lowest deck alone.

  Perched on the top deck, a black helicopter stood silent, and ten metres below it, a hoist held a sleek powerboat ready to be lowered into the sea at a moment’s notice.

  ‘I’ll see you later,’ Cate said quietly to the boat as Catwalk II slid slowly by.

  Cate locked the door to her ca
bin and turned on her laptop. Her room was stuffy and hot, but she didn’t dare open the portholes in case someone was within hearing. It was late, but with any luck Arthur would still have his computer on.

  ‘Hi, Cate, great to see you. I was beginning to worry.’ Arthur was in his pyjamas but still wearing his glasses. ‘God, you look shattered.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Cate ruefully. ‘That’s because I nearly got blown up today. Arthur, get recording while I tell you about my day at the office.’

  ‘Jeez!’ said her brother as she finally got to the end of the day’s events. His face had gone pale. ‘Cate! What next?’

  ‘Very good question,’ said Cate. ‘I’m not really sure. I was about to give up on being an agent. It’s a lot more stressful than you’d think.’

  The two of them grinned at each other.

  ‘But then Nancy’s kids are turning up tomorrow and because of them I’m getting a day on The Good Times and now I think I have to carry on. It’s like someone up there is dangling this opportunity at me and I feel that, if I turned my back on it, well, I would always regret that I didn’t see it through.’

  ‘Cate,’ said Arthur, putting on his persuasive tone of voice. ‘Cate, you are sixteen years old. You should be, I don’t know, going to the cinema, snogging boys, having rows with Dad and Monique about staying out late. You definitely should not be taking on murderers or playing at being a female James Bond. Leave that to the professionals. It’s their job not yours.’

  Cate smiled at him reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, bro. I’ve managed to stay alive so far. And . . . it’s kind of addictive.’

  ‘Right,’ said Arthur glumly.

  ‘Remember, no telling Dad unless I don’t call or text twice a day. Have you managed to find out anything more about Ramibia?’