'No thanks, Jill. And don't put any calls through for the next half an hour or so.' He went inside his office and closed the door. He telephoned his bank and asked for the balance of his accounts. There was a little over ten thousand in his current account, another thirty thousand in a deposit account. Martin wrote the numbers down and then called a building society in the Channel Islands. He had a further ninety thousand pounds there, out of the reach of the Irish taxman. He arranged to have it transferred to his current account in Dublin, though he was told that they wouldn't be able to carry out the transfer until they received written confirmation. Martin promised to send a letter by courier.
His next call was to his stockbroker, Jamie O'Connor. Jamie was an old friend – they'd been at school together and lived less than a mile from each other. According to Jamie, Martin's stock portfolio was worth just under a quarter of a million pounds.
'How long would it take to turn it into cash?' Martin asked.
'Cash? You want to sell them all? Jesus, Martin, I wouldn't recommend that. The market here might be getting a bit toppy, but you've got a worldwide portfolio, and besides, you're taking a long-term view, right?'
'Things change, Jamie.' The shares and bonds had been acquired over a ten-year period and had been intended as Martin's pension fund. It would be easier to liquidate the portfolio than to arrange an overdraft or remortgage the house. He could always buy more shares. The company was flourishing, and if they went public as planned the shares he'd be placing would be worth millions. 'Could you sell everything by close of business today?'
'I could, sure. But I wouldn't recommend it. The Irish shares, okay, but your Far Eastern exposure has taken a bit of a tumble recently. I'd suggest you hang on to them. And there's a couple of your holdings that are due to pay their annual dividends next month – you'd be better off keeping them until they've gone ex-dividend.'
'Everything, Jamie.'
'Martin, are you okay? Has something happened?'
'Everything's fine. I just need some cash, that's all. Andy's got her heart set on a villa in Portugal and like a fool I agreed to buy it for her. We can afford it, what with the flotation and all.'
'Well, it's your decision, of course. All I can do is offer my professional advice, and I wouldn't recommend liquidating a perfectly decent portfolio of shares to buy a villa in Portugal.'
'Advice noted, Jamie. Close of business today, right?'
There was a slight hesitation from the broker, as if he was about to argue but then decided not to press the point. 'Consider it done.'
'And put the money straight into my current account with Allied Irish, will you?'
'Oh, now that's just being silly, Martin. You'll be throwing away the interest.'
'I'm going to need it in a hurry. Do you need written confirmation?'
'No need. All the firm's conversations are recorded. Look, are you sure about this?'
'Dead sure, Jamie. Look, I've got another call. I'll talk to you again soon.'
Martin put down the phone. A quarter of a million pounds, plus the money already in the bank, gave him a total of three hundred and eighty thousand pounds. Surely that would be enough? He sat at his desk with his head in his hands. What if it wasn't? What if they wanted more? What would he do then?
– «»-«»-«»'Something to drink?' asked the stewardess.
The voice jolted Andy out of her daydream. 'Sorry?' The plastic smile was a little less friendly, as if the stewardess resented having to ask twice. 'Would you like a drink?'
Andy shook her head. The stewardess served the elderly couple who were sitting next to Andy and pushed her trolley down the aisle. Andy closed her eyes. Images of Katie filled her mind. Katie laughing at cartoons on the television, Katie smiling in her sleep, Katie holding her arms out to be lifted up and hugged. Andy breathed in through her nose. She could almost imagine that she was inhaling the fragrance of her daughter's hair, sweet and clean. She wondered how Katie was feeling. Would she be scared? Crying for her mother? Would the men holding her be taking good care of her? Andy pictured her crouching tearfully in the corner of a dark room, with a menacing figure standing over her. She shivered and opened her eyes. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. What had Katie ever done to deserve this? Katie, who'd never harmed anyone, never shown anything but love to everyone around her, to strangers even. Katie, who was forever asking her parents to give money to the beggars in St Stephen's Green, to adopt stray cats and to send money to each and every charitable appeal featured on television. Katie was a little angel, and whoever was putting her through this ordeal would burn in hell. Andy promised herself that whatever happened she would get her revenge on the men who'd kidnapped Katie. If it took her for ever, she'd make them pay.
She looked out of the window. Through the wispy clouds below she could make out the English coastline. It had been six months since she'd last been in London, a surprise weekend trip to celebrate her birthday. Martin had arranged everything – tickets for Cats, two nights in the Savoy and a rose on her pillow. Her parents had looked after Katie, but Andy had phoned every night. She'd always hated to be away from her daughter.
The captain announced that they were starting their descent and that they'd be landing within twenty minutes. Andy checked her seat belt. At the rear of the plane, the woman with dyed blond hair and unnaturally green eyes slid her burgundy briefcase under the seat in front of her.
– «»-«»-«»Martin looked up as the quick double knock was followed almost immediately by the office door opening. It was his partner, Padraig, his coat on and carrying his briefcase. 'Are you up for a drink?' he asked. Padraig was red-haired with a sprinkling of freckles across his nose, broad-shouldered from long sessions in the gym.
'Nah, I want to get back,' said Martin.
'What about you and Andy coming around for dinner tomorrow? Louise wants to try out her fondue set. Upmarket cheese dip.'
'Tomorrow's not good, mate. Maybe next week. I'll check with Andy and let you know, okay?'
Padraig gave him a thumbs-up. 'Okay, I'm off, then. I'm sure I'll find somebody to drink with at the golf club.'
The telephone rang as Padraig closed the door. It was Jamie O'Connor, confirming that the entire portfolio had been sold. A total of two hundred and sixty-eight thousand pounds, which had been wired to Martin's current account in Dublin.
Martin thanked him and put the phone down. He had the money, but why hadn't he heard from the kidnappers? He'd checked with Jill several times but there had been no calls that she hadn't put through. Maybe they were going to phone him at home. Maybe they'd already phoned Andy in London.
Martin had called directory enquiries and asked for the telephone number of the Strand Palace Hotel. He hadn't called, though several times he'd started to dial the number. He was supposed to behave as normal, but did that mean that it was okay to telephone his wife?
The intercom on his desk buzzed, startling him. It was Jill, telling him that she was going home. He said goodnight. It was six o'clock. What was he supposed to do now? He was normally in the office until seven, but did the kidnappers know that the switchboard closed when Jill went home? Would they try to phone the office number? What would they do if they couldn't get through?
He stood up and paced around the office. It was the not knowing that was driving him crazy. Not knowing the timescale, not knowing how much they wanted, not knowing how they intended to collect the money. And worst of all, not knowing what they had done to his dear, darling daughter. He kicked the door to his office and then punched it, so hard that he bruised his knuckles. He licked the bleeding flesh as tears pricked his eyes.
– «»-«»-«»Andy sat on the hotel bed, staring at the telephone. All she had to do was to pick it up and within seconds she could be talking to her husband. Or the police. She shook her head. What could the police do?
She heard a whispering sound at the door and she went over to it. There was a white envelope on the floor. She picked it up and reached for t
he door handle, then hesitated. What would happen if she opened the door and saw whoever had delivered the envelope? What if she saw his face? She felt helpless – she didn't know how she was supposed to react or what she was supposed to do. All control had been taken from her. She went back to the bed and sat down again. The envelope had been sealed and she used a fingernail to slit it open. Her mind was whirling. Forensic evidence, she thought. Fingerprints. Saliva. DNA. She had to keep the envelope – the police would be able to get information about the kidnappers from it.
There was a single sheet of paper inside. Andy unfolded it. It was hotel notepaper and the letter was typed. Capital letters again. Andy read it with shaking hands.
YOUR DAUGHTER IS QUITE SAFE AND SO LONG AS YOU FOLLOW OUR INSTRUCTIONS SHE WILL NOT BE HARMED. AT NINE O'CLOCK TOMORROW MORNING YOU ARE TO CHECK OUT. TAKE ALL YOUR THINGS WITH YOU. TURN RIGHT OUT OF THE HOTEL AND WALK DOWN THE STRAND. TURN RIGHT INTO BEDFORD STREET, AND LEFT INTO BEDFORD COURT. YOU WILL SEE A MULTISTOREY CARPARK ON YOUR LEFT. GO INSIDE THE CARPARK. GO UP TO THE THIRD FLOOR. THERE YOU WILL SEE A DARK BLUE TRANSIT VAN. ON THE SIDE OF THE VAN IS THE NAME OF A LANDSCAPING FIRM. MAKE SURE NO ONE IS WATCHING YOU. OPEN THE REAR DOOR OF THE VAN AND GET IN. CLOSE THE DOOR BEHIND YOU. INSIDE THE VAN YOU WILL FIND A BLACK HOOD. PUT IT OVER YOUR HEAD AND WAIT. WE DO NOT INTEND TO CAUSE YOU ANY HARM. BUT MAKE NO MISTAKE. IF YOU DISOBEY OR IF YOU MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO CONTACT THE POLICE, YOUR DAUGHTER WILL DIE.
Andy reread the letter several times. A van? A hood? What did these people want from her? She looked at her watch. It was six o'clock in the evening. Fifteen hours before she was supposed to check out. What was she supposed to do for fifteen hours? She read the letter again. It didn't say. Why the delay? Was it because they were watching her, checking that she wasn't being followed?
She stood up and began pacing up and down the room. Was she allowed to contact Martin? The letter said only that she wasn't to talk to the police. Would they consider a phone call to Martin a breach of the conditions? Had they tapped the phone in Dublin? Could she risk it?
She stopped at the window and looked out on to the busy street below. Who was doing this to her? Who had turned her life upside down? And why?
– «»-«»-«»Martin Hayes lay staring up at the ceiling. There was no way he'd be able to sleep, but he knew he had to make the effort. It wouldn't help anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion.
He'd got back home just after seven and had sat next to the telephone for most of the evening, willing it to ring. It had, once, but it was only Padraig checking that Martin had seen a letter from one of their suppliers, raising prices by twenty per cent and blaming the strong pound. They'd chatted for a while, but Martin had been fairly abrupt with his partner, not wanting to tie up the phone line. He had the 'call waiting' facility, but he didn't want to do anything that might spook the kidnappers.
He rolled over and curled up into a ball. His stomach ached, but it wasn't hunger. He'd forced himself to eat a ham sandwich in the office, and he'd eaten a can of soup when he got home, though he hadn't tasted anything. What he really wanted was a drink, but the way he felt he doubted that he'd be able to stop at one. It would be so easy to use alcohol to take the edge off his panic, but he knew it'd be a big mistake. He had to keep a clear head, he had to remain totally focused on what he had to do.
The telephone rang and Martin sat bolt upright. He grabbed for the receiver. 'Yes?'
'Martin?' It was Andy, her voice little more than a whisper.
'Hiya, love. Are you okay?'
'Can't sleep. I'm just lying here. Martin…'
Martin could hear the despair in her voice. 'I'm still here, love.'
'Have they called you?'
'No. Nothing. I've spoken to the bank, and I've sold our shares and stuff. The money's in the bank and there's no problem in raising more. All we need now is to know how much they want.'
'Martin…'
She was close to crying, and Martin wished with all his heart that she was in the bed with him and that he could reach over and cuddle her.
'Martin… I'm not sure if this is about money.'
'What do you mean?'
'They want me to go somewhere tomorrow.'
'Where?'
'A van. I have to go to a van in a carpark around the corner. I guess they're going to take me somewhere.' There was a long pause, and Martin thought they'd lost the connection until he heard her breathe. 'I'm not sure if we should even be talking,' she said. 'Maybe they're listening.'
'If they're listening, love, they know that we haven't gone to the police. They know that we're doing everything they've asked. They know that there's no reason not to give Katie back to us. Okay?'
'I suppose so,' she said, but he could tell from her tone that she wasn't convinced.
'It's going to be all right, love,' said Martin. 'Do you know where they want to take you?'
'They didn't say. It was a note, like before. They haven't called you?'
'No.'
'Martin, if it was money they wanted, they'd have called by now, wouldn't they?'
'I don't know what they're playing at, love.'
There was another long silence. 'It couldn't be to do with the business, could it?' she said eventually.
'In what way?'
'You haven't been doing business with anybody you shouldn't have? Have you?'
'Jesus, Andy, what a thing to say.' Martin was stunned. It was as if she were trying to find some way of blaming him for what had happened. 'What would make you think that?'
'Well, why else could this be happening? Why would anyone take Katie and then make me do this? Check into a hotel. Get into a van. It's as if they want you on your own. Isolated. That's why I thought maybe it wasn't about money.' There was another pause.
'We don't have any choice, Andy. We have to do what they say. They've obviously got something planned.'
'I know that. Look, are you sure it's not connected to the business, Martin? You haven't crossed somebody? Do you owe somebody money?'
'The company's never been better,' said Martin. 'Our overdraft is well under control, orders are coming in, we've a few problems with suppliers, but we're well ahead of where we were this time last year.'
'I know you've always kept problems from me,' said Andy. 'The times the business was going through a rough patch, you never let on. I knew, but you never told me. I just thought…'
'It's late at night and the demons are out, that's all. You're thinking too much. I'm the same. I've been lying here imagining all sorts of things, but that's all it is. Imagination. And if it was to do with the business, there'd have been some lead-up to it. They wouldn't just snatch Katie. There'd be threats, there'd be other pressures they'd apply. And Andy, love, the sort of people I do business with wouldn't dream of hurting a child. Or a wife. They're men and they behave like men.' There was no answer from his wife. 'Andy, did you hear what I said?'
'Yes.' There was a tearful sniff. 'I'm sorry, Martin. I just feel… alone, you know.'
'I know exactly what you mean, love. This bed has never felt so bloody big. What's your room like there?'
'It's okay. I wish I was there with you.'
'Mutual. Times a million.'
'I just wish it was over.'
'I know,' said Martin. 'It won't be much longer, I'm sure. They must want to get this over with as quickly as we do.'
'Oh God, I hope so.'
'Try to get some sleep, okay?'
'I'll try.' She sniffed again. 'I wonder how they're treating Katie. She'll be so scared.'
'I'm sure they'll be taking good care of her. They won't hurt her. Everything they're doing depends on us getting her back safely. Try not to worry. I know that's an impossible thing to ask, but try.'
'I'll try. I have to check out at nine. I'll try to call you later in the day.'
Martin said goodbye and replaced the receiver. A van? What the hell did they want her to get into a van for? Martin had been doing his best to keep his wife's sp
irits up, but he knew that she was right. This was about more than money. But what?
– «»-«»-«»Egan replayed the tape of the conversation between Andrea Hayes and her husband. He frowned as he listened, but by the time he had played it through to the end he was smiling to himself. Andrea had said nothing that could jeopardise the operation. If anything, the conversation would make the Hayes woman more compliant. Her husband had been reassuring. Soothing, even.
Egan had half expected the Hayes woman to call her husband. At this stage, he wanted their full co-operation, and that meant keeping their stress levels as low as possible. If the notes had insisted that there be no contact, there was a chance that one or the other might panic and call in the police. The phone call also gave Egan an insight into how they were thinking. They were scared for their daughter, but it was clear that they were going to do everything that was asked of them. They still believed that the kidnapping was money-motivated. By the time they realised what was really going on, it would be too late.
DAY THREE
Andy stood in the middle of the hotel room, looking around. She had to do something. She had to let Martin know what was happening. She'd wanted to say more to him on the phone the previous night, but couldn't take the risk that someone had been listening in. But now she was preparing to check out of the hotel, and she realised that it might be the last opportunity she had to get a message to her husband. She had to let him know where she was going, because if anything went wrong it might be the only way he could find out where Katie was. She thought of leaving a message in the room, but even if she addressed it to Martin the chambermaid might open it, and if she realised its significance she'd probably pass it on to the police. And there was a possibility that the people who had kidnapped Katie might be preparing to search her room after she checked out. If they found a letter, there was no saying what they might do to Katie.
The Bombmaker Page 4
