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Sight Unseen

Page 24

by Robert Goddard


  ‘He got more of a reaction then he’d bargained for. He was due to join me in St Malo on New Year’s Eve. The day before that, when he was shopping in St Helier, he spotted Marilyn on the other side of the road, hurrying out of a bank, with a brown-paper parcel in her hand, looking … furtive, he reckoned. She didn’t notice him and he followed her into Royal Square, where he hung back and watched as she sat down on a bench and unwrapped the parcel. Inside were two small antique books. Well, Marilyn’s no book collector, is she? Jem didn’t know what to make of it. But he was more than curious. He was suspicious. Specially when she tore the front page out of each of the books and folded them away in her handbag. Then she put the books into a carrier-bag, chucked the wrapping paper in a bin and headed off.

  ‘Jem followed. And you can guess where he followed her to. Quires, in Halkett Place. He watched her through the window from behind a delivery van on the other side of the street and saw her slip the books out of the bag and onto the shelf. Then she left.

  ‘Jem let her go, then went into the shop and took a look at the books. When he saw what they were, he knew he had to buy them. They were evidence. Evidence Marilyn had been eager to get off her hands. He’d got hold of a transcript of the original inquest at the time of Radd’s confession to check for contradictions. So, he knew what you’d told the coroner about Griffin and the special edition of the Junius letters. And there they were. Minus the fly-leaves. The fact that Marilyn had torn them out clinched it for him. His probing over Christmas had panicked her. She’d decided to cover her tracks. Maybe she’d meant to get rid of the books for years but hadn’t bothered to. Maybe the distance opening up between Oliver and her was a factor. Maybe she didn’t expect to be back in Jersey that often. It doesn’t matter why she made her move that day. What matters is that Jem caught her in the act.

  ‘I wish to Christ now he hadn’t. He’d still be alive. We’d still …’ She swallowed hard. ‘Sorry. Can’t stop now, can I? Can’t go all weepy on you.

  ‘The Junius letters were clearly the key to it all, but Jem didn’t really understand why. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head of using them in some way to expose the truth – and to punish Marilyn for her part in it. Eventually, he decided to construct a message out of words and phrases in the letters and send it to three people outside the family he hoped could be goaded into going back into the case. Sharp. Wisby. And Hollins – the policeman who put Radd away. Looks like Hollins ignored the letter. But Sharp and Wisby didn’t. They rose to the bait.

  ‘Jem didn’t kill himself because he was afraid you’d expose his campaign to his parents, y’know. He did it to shield me. To draw a line, with me on the safe side of it. He was spooked by the ruthlessness of whoever’s behind all this. He felt guilty for stirring up trouble for me. He didn’t quite believe they’d killed Sally, y’see. But when they killed Radd? Then he believed. He didn’t know where they’d stop. He wanted the truth to come out. All he got for his pains was unwelcome attention from you and Wisby. And he was worried who might follow after you. You meeting me was the last straw, I reckon. He was determined no-one else would get the chance. So, he sent me to St Malo, knowing he never would meet up with me there. And then he went to finish it with you and Wisby the only way he could.

  ‘I’m alone now, like I guess I always have been. Miranda, the sister I can’t even remember. Jem, the brother I had for a few precious months. They’re gone. It’s just me left. I don’t know what to do. I can’t run. I can’t stay. I can’t hide. I can’t show myself. I want a mother and a father who don’t lie to me or betray me or insist I’m dead or someone else or Christ knows what. I want justice for Jem. And for myself. I want everyone to face the truth. And I want to know what the truth is. But I don’t expect to get what I want. I don’t expect at all. I can’t see the future. Any future. I can’t see a way out. Or ahead. Or even back.’ She paused, frowning into what remained of her coffee. Then, for the first time since she had begun speaking, she looked Umber in the eye. ‘Can you, Shadow Man? Tell me honestly, can you?’

  Chantelle had not had much of an answer to her question when she went back to her room. She was so clearly exhausted by then that Umber hoped she would sleep for the rest of the night. He held out no such hope for himself. He lay on his bed, not even bothering to undress, staring into the darkness above his head. And darkness was all he saw.

  He rose at dawn and slipped out of the hotel, carrying the knife in its bundle of black plastic. He fetched the bag containing Chantelle’s bloodstained clothes from the boot of the car and followed the coast path as it climbed the hill to the west. Cliffpath to Plémont, the sign at the bottom had promised. But soon, infuriatingly, it turned inland. He had to cut through a small copse and a bank of bracken beyond to reach the edge of the cliff. He tossed the bag and the bundle over. They fell amongst rocks and foaming sea, lost to the eye almost at once. Safe enough, he reckoned. He headed back.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  WHEN THEY LEFT Grève de Lecq next morning, Umber shunned the obvious route back to St Helier, preferring to head east and approach it from the north, across the middle of the island. There was no good reason for such an elaborate precaution. They would only really be in danger of discovery once they were in St Helier. And there was no way of avoiding that danger if he was to retrieve his statement.

  But the danger, he assured Chantelle, was actually minimal. It was just too soon for the police to have thought of contacting Burnouf. And Waldron’s associates had no reason to. It was a simple errand, swiftly and easily accomplished. Nothing would go wrong.

  That did not stop him telling Chantelle what to do if something did go wrong, however. They sat in the car in the Pier Road multi-storey, facing a concrete wall in the gloom of one of the lower floors, as nine o’clock ticked round. She had said she would not go alone. But the contingency Umber was determined to prepare her for was one in which she would have no choice in the matter.

  ‘If I’m not back by ten, leave without me. Take the Juniuses with you and get off the island any way you can. Go to London. Phone this woman.’ He passed her Claire Wheatley’s card. ‘There’s a mobile number on the back. Claire was Sally’s psychotherapist. You can trust her. Tell her everything. She’ll know what to do for the best.’

  ‘But you will be back by ten, won’t you?’

  ‘I fully intend to be.’

  ‘So, no need to worry, then.’

  ‘None at all.’ He scraped off the time on the parking paycard and propped it on the dashboard. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ Then he gave her a parting smile and climbed out of the car.

  It was only a few minutes’ walk down Pier Road and along Hill Street to Le Templier & Burnouf. The receptionist was drinking coffee and sorting through the post when Umber arrived and took a while to absorb the message that he wanted the envelope he had left with Burnouf back and he wanted it now. She rang Burnouf on the internal line and he agreed to spare Umber five minutes.

  Five minutes was as long as Umber wanted to spare Burnouf, as it happened, though he did not say so. The ever placid solicitor was still on the internal phone, instructing the receptionist to fetch the envelope from the safe, when Umber hurried into his office.

  ‘Thank you, Janet.’ Burnouf rang off. ‘Good morning, Mr Umber. Bright and early, I see.’

  ‘Sorry to burst in on you. I, er … well, there’s been a …’

  ‘Promising development?’

  ‘No.’ Umber was temporarily nonplussed. ‘What made you think that?’

  ‘Well, you left your … statement … with me as a precaution, so I understood. Retrieving it suggests precautions are no longer necessary.’

  ‘I’ve … changed my mind about it. That’s all.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?’

  ‘Of course. It’s just …’ Burnouf frowned. ‘Mr Sharp reappears before the magistrates this morning. I tried to reach you at the Pomme d’Or to discuss his prospects, but they
said you’d checked out.’

  Umber smiled weakly. ‘I found somewhere cheaper.’

  ‘Do you still wish me to say nothing to him about your activities on his behalf?’

  ‘I’ll leave that for you to decide.’

  ‘Really? You seem, if I may—’ There was a tap at the door. The receptionist came in with the taped and sealed envelope. She delivered it to Burnouf and left. ‘Thank you, Janet,’ he called after her.

  ‘There’s the receipt,’ said Umber, whipping it out of his pocket and placing it on the desk. ‘May I?’ He held out his hand.

  ‘By all means.’ Burnouf passed him the envelope. ‘There’s space on the receipt for you to confirm retrieval. Would you mind signing?’ He proffered a pen. Umber signed. ‘Leaving Jersey, Mr Umber?’

  ‘Did I say I was?’

  ‘No. It’s just … an impression I have.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘What about the Halls? Will you be in touch with them?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Jeremy Hall’s suicide prompted a lot of publicity. One of the newspaper articles I read mentioned a previous suicide by someone linked with the Avebury case. Sally Umber. Not a common surname. Not common at all. I took a flick through the archives. Found you – and Mr Sharp. I visited him yesterday and asked him about it.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’

  ‘Well, that’s my line too.’

  ‘I rather thought it might be. Though whether the police will be content with it …’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘They’re bound to follow up the connection sooner or later. I wondered if that was why … you’d called in this morning.’ Burnouf glanced pointedly at the envelope in Umber’s hand.

  ‘Thanks for this,’ Umber said stiffly. ‘I’ve got to go.’ He turned and made for the door, but before he reached it something stopped him. He looked back at Burnouf. ‘Perhaps you could pass a message to George for me after all.’

  ‘I’d be happy to.’

  ‘Tell him … it isn’t over.’

  How Sharp would take such a message Umber did not know. His thoughts were fixed now on getting himself and Chantelle off Jersey as quickly as possible. He hurried out of Le Templier & Burnouf and started back the way he had come, glancing at his watch as he went. It had just turned half past nine. He was comfortably on schedule. His gaze returned to the street ahead.

  And he found himself looking into the eyes of Percy Nevinson.

  ‘David! Well, well, well.’ Nevinson beamed at him. ‘How very nice to see you. And how very unexpected.’

  Umber’s heart sank. Silently but eloquently, he cursed his luck. ‘Percy, I—’

  ‘We shouldn’t be too surprised, though. This is a small island. And I assume we’re bound for the same destination this morning.’

  ‘Where might that be, Percy?’

  ‘The magistrates’ court.’ Nevinson winked. ‘Mr Sharp’s hearing. It should prove interesting, I think. Of course, you may be able to tell me how he finds himself in such a position. The gamekeeper poached, so to speak. Why don’t we step in somewhere for a cup of coffee? You can fill me in on the background.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m in a rush. Can’t stop.’

  ‘Well, I’ll walk with you and we can talk as we go. You see, I can hardly believe Mr Sharp’s predicament is unconnected with the latest tragedy to strike the Hall family. Jeremy Hall’s suicide is actually what prompted me to come to Jersey. I imagine you can tell me a good deal about that as well, if you’ve a mind to.’

  ‘But I don’t have a mind to, Percy. That’s the point. Get out of my way.’

  Nevinson bridled. ‘There’s no need to take that tone.’

  ‘Oh but there is. Now I—’

  The events of the next few seconds were compressed into a bewildering jumble in Umber’s mind. The flank of a white Transit van appeared suddenly at the edge of his vision. The vehicle bounced up onto the pavement and lurched to a halt a few inches from him, the side-door sliding open fast as it did so. He was grabbed from behind by someone on the pavement, his arms pinned to his sides, the envelope plucked from his hand. A second figure loomed above him and grasped his shoulders. Then he was hoisted off his feet and into the van.

  He was face down on an oily blanket covering the floor as the door slammed shut. Two men, strong enough to handle him like a child, were above and around him. There was a shout of ‘Go!’ then the van surged forward, left the pavement with a jolt and accelerated away. Umber could see the thick neck and shaven head of the driver through the wire-mesh screen between him and the cab.

  It was to be no more than a glimpse. His head was yanked up. A blindfold was slung across his eyes. The cloth pressed painfully into them as the knot was fastened. He cried out. But the cry was stifled by a strip of duct tape, slapped across his mouth and pressed tight against his skin. His hands were crushed together behind his back, then cords twined round his wrists and tightened. He tried to struggle up, but a boot descended heavily on his neck, forcing him down again.

  Then came a rasping voice close to his ear. ‘Lie still or we’ll break every fucking bone in your body.’

  They were on the road for about half an hour, Umber estimated. His shock faded slightly, but his fear only increased. Reasoning as best he could, he deduced they had been following Nevinson in the hope he would lead them to Umber, as, by pure and malign chance, he had. Nevinson had presumably been left to goggle at the departing van. He was not important. They had got the man they wanted. But what they meant to do with him he did not know. All he knew for certain was that he did not want to find out. The only consolation he had to hold on to was that they had struck too soon. He might have led them to Chantelle if they had held off. But they did not know about her. That was his only advantage. And he had to make the most of it.

  Eventually, the van came to a halt. The engine died. The side-door slid open. He was pulled upright and bundled into the open air. He felt the coolness of it against his skin at once. The wind stirred his hair. There was stony ground beneath his feet. ‘Start walking’ came the instruction. He was frogmarched forward. They covered about twenty yards. He heard a burble of conversation nearby, but could not catch the words. Then: ‘Get in the car.’ He was pushed through an open car doorway, a hand pressing down his head to clear the frame. The door clunked shut behind him.

  He could smell new leather and a residue of cigar smoke. There was an arm-rest to his left. With his hands tied behind him, he had to lean forward slightly in his seat. He sensed there was someone beside him. He heard an envelope being torn open. There was a rustling of paper. A few minutes of silence followed. Then the man beside him spoke, in a soft, moist, sticky tone, as if he was sucking a toffee.

  ‘Listen to me carefully, Mr Umber. I’m going to offer you a deal. And you’re going to accept it. That’s the way it is. That’s the way it has to be. We want Cherie. Or Chantelle, as I gather she calls herself now. You’re the only one who’s seen her recently. The only one alive, anyway. So, you know what she looks like these days. And we believe you can find her for us. We could persuade you to tell us what you know about her and go after her ourselves, but we’re concerned about our profile. It’s been worryingly high lately. So, you get the job. Congratulations. There’s a time limit, naturally. Three days. I’m going to put a card in your pocket.’ Umber felt something being slipped into his shirt pocket. ‘There’s a telephone number on it. Ring us by noon on Friday with details of where and when we can collect the girl. In return, we’ll arrange for a reliable witness to tell the police he saw the drugs being planted on Sharp’s van and we’ll refrain from sending them this incriminating document you’ve kindly supplied us with. We cleaned up after you at the flat in St Aubin, but there’s a body waiting to be found in an abandoned car at Noirmont Point which fingerprints and DNA would tie you to for certain if the police were pointed in the right direction. Wisby’s likely to throw all sorts
of accusations your way. You really do need to be in a position to refute them. There’d be other kinds of retribution if you defied us, of course. For you and Ms Wheatley and Ms Myers. And we’d find Cherie in the end anyway, so you and your friends would be sacrificed in vain. But I don’t need to spell it all out for you, do I? You’re an intelligent man. You can see there’s no choice. It’s open and shut. So, just nod your head to confirm we have a deal. That’s all you have to do. That and deliver the girl, of course.’ There was a pause. ‘Well?’

  A moment slowly passed. Then Umber nodded.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Umber. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.’

  A signal of some kind must have been given. The car door opened and he was pulled out. His captors led him back to the van, loaded him aboard and dumped him, as before, face down on the floor. They set off once more.

  It was a shorter drive this time, or perhaps it merely seemed so to Umber, who no longer feared for his life, at least in the short term. The knowledge that he would soon be set free relaxed him to a degree.

  The van made slower going as the journey continued. At one point, it stopped and reversed to the sound of roadside branches scraping against the bodywork, then went on again, as if passing another vehicle in a narrow lane. Eventually, it pulled over and came to a halt, with the engine running. The side-door slid open. Umber was hauled into a sitting position in the doorway, his feet resting on the ground. ‘Stand up,’ he was told. He did so. ‘Take one step forward.’ He did that too. Then his hands were untied, the door slid shut behind him and the van pulled away, accelerating hard.

  By the time Umber had released the blindfold and his eyes had adjusted to the light, the van was out of sight. He was standing a few feet from a five-bar gate into a field. On the other side of the gate a herd of Jersey cattle were grazing contentedly on rich green pasture. One of them cast him a mildly curious glance, then returned her attention to the grass. Even the cry he gave as he pulled the strip of tape away from his mouth did not distract her further.

 

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