The Innocent and the Dead

by Robert McNeill

  The man ran his finger down Samantha’s chin and made a little slicing motion across her throat.

  ‘You get my meaning, sweetie?’ he said.

  He replaced the tape on her mouth, then walked to the door and left.

  After he’d gone, Samantha felt a cramp in her leg and shifted in the chair to restore the circulation. As the cramp eased, she thought about what had happened.

  She had a vague memory of coming to at one point in her journey. It might have been when she was being taken from the van. She remembered she’d been supported by two people, which meant the man must have an accomplice.

  She thought about her parents and Claudia, her flatmate. She had no doubt that by now they would have contacted the police.

  She moved her hand and just managed to read the face of her watch: 7.35am. The man had threatened to kill her if her father didn’t go along with whatever he had planned. How would her father react? Would he involve the police?

  She couldn’t be sure.

  It was then Samantha realised how dangerous her situation was, and felt a stab of fear to her heart.

  * * *

  Sir Nigel Tavener was seated at a large oak desk in the study of his substantial Edwardian villa in North Berwick. The morning was bright and sunny, and a large picture window at his back gave an uninterrupted view of the Firth of Forth and the Bass Rock. The Lochmore Distillers boss was talking on the phone with DCI Warburton.

  ‘A witness saw Samantha taken?’ Tavener was saying. ‘How did she appear?’

  ‘As I said, sir,’ Warburton said. ‘We think a small amount of chloroform was used to subdue her. The witness said she appeared to be suffering from the effects of the anaesthetic, but otherwise she looked okay.’

  ‘So, it’s a kidnapping,’ Tavener said. ‘I can expect to be contacted?’

  ‘Highly likely sir, yes. However, in many cases the abductors wait up to twenty-four hours before contact is made.’

  ‘I see,’ Tavener said. ‘What do you advise?’

  ‘Well, sir, I’ve taken the liberty of placing an intercept on your landline, so anyone calling you will be automatically recorded. In cases like these, abductors call with a demand for a specific sum of money. Usually we advise telling the caller that it will take time for the amount to be raised, and a call back is arranged. This gives us time to organise a strategy.’

  ‘It’s imperative that no harm befalls my daughter,’ Tavener said.

  ‘I understand that, sir,’ Warburton said. ‘It’s our first priority.’

  ‘Very well,’ Tavener said. ‘How do we proceed?’

  Warburton said, ‘I’ve appointed one of my most capable officers, Detective Inspector Jack Knox, to take charge. He’s on his way to see you now.’

  ‘This morning?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He should be with you around ten.’

  ‘Very well,’ Tavener said.

  * * *

  Tavener had only just replaced the receiver when there was a knock at the study door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  His housekeeper, a plump middle-aged woman, entered and gave a little curtsy. She held a large padded envelope, which she took to his desk. ‘This package just arrived for you sir,’ she said.

  Tavener accepted the envelope and said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Reid.’

  ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’

  ‘No, thank you… oh, is Lady Tavener up yet?’

  ‘No sir, not yet.’

  Tavener and his wife had spent a night fraught with worry over their daughter’s disappearance. ‘Thank you, Mrs Reid,’ he said. ‘When she comes down, will you tell her I’m in the study? It may not be for some time yet, she had little sleep last night.’

  ‘I know, sir,’ Reid replied. ‘I will.’

  When his housekeeper had left the room, Tavener took a paper knife from his desk drawer, slit open the envelope, and extracted the contents – a Samsung smartphone and a sheet of A4 paper, folded twice.

  He spread the sheet on his desk, then took a pair of reading glasses from his pocket. The note, inked in block capitals, read:

  SIR NIGEL TAVENER – I HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER. BE ASSURED NO HARM WILL COME TO HER IF YOU FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS TO THE LETTER.

  THE POLICE MUST NOT BE INVOLVED. IF THEY ARE, BE ADVISED YOU WILL NOT SEE SAMANTHA ALIVE AGAIN.

  SWITCH ON THE PHONE. FIRSTLY, THERE’S AN ICON IN THE PHOTO FILE LABELLED ‘SAMANTHA’. OPEN IT. YOU WILL SEE A PICTURE OF YOUR DAUGHTER TAKEN AT 8.30AM THIS MORNING.

  SHE IS BEING HELD IN A SECURE LOCATION AND IS TIED OF NECESSITY, BUT IS IN GOOD HEALTH AND WILL REMAIN SO PROVIDED YOU DO EXACTLY AS I SAY. LOOK AT THE PHOTO. THIS WILL PROVE TO YOU THAT AS OF THIS MORNING SAMATHA IS WELL. (YOU WILL SEE SHE IS HOLDING A COPY OF TODAY’S TIMES NEWSPAPER.)

  I WILL RING YOU SOON AFTER THE PHONE IS DELIVERED, SO MAKE SURE YOU KEEP IT SWITCHED ON. FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS WILL BE GIVEN TO YOU THEN. I KNOW THE POLICE WILL MONITOR YOUR LANDLINE. THE ONLY CONTACT FROM ME WILL COME FROM THE MOBILE NOW IN YOUR POSSESSION.

  Tavener switched on the phone and clicked the file marked ‘Samantha’. The picture had been taken in a poorly-lit room and had a lot of digital noise. His daughter was seated in a chair below the light source and looked directly at the lens.

  She was dressed in her tracksuit, and both her hands and feet were tied – her hands bound to the arms of the chair.

  As the note had indicated, a copy of The Times had been placed on her knees, the top half of the front page facing the camera. Tavener hadn’t had an opportunity to read his copy yet, but was in no doubt it was the current edition.

  He adjusted his glasses and took a closer look at Samantha. His daughter appeared tired and stressed, her face reflecting the trauma of the last ten hours.

  Tavener studied the picture and felt a range of emotions: anger at the men who’d subjected her to this ordeal, fear for her safety, and then, as he continued viewing the image, a new emotion supplanted the others – a feeling of total helplessness.

  He put down the phone, read the letter again, and came to the conclusion that cooperating with the police would mean placing his daughter’s life in danger.

  The screen of the smartphone lit up at that moment and the device began ringing. He picked it up and accepted the call.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Tavener?’ A man’s voice. Young. Confident. A hint of cockiness.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You got my package then? Read the note?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have the police been in touch with you?’

  Tavener was silent for a long moment, not sure how to answer.

  ‘Come, come, Sir Nigel. Be honest. We know your daughter’s abduction was witnessed. A man near the golf club at Duddingston Road West. Unfortunate, but as the Yanks say, “Shit happens.”’

  Again, Tavener said nothing.

  ‘Sir Nigel? You still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I asked a question. Have the police been in touch with you?’

  Tavener hesitated for several seconds, then said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Say?’

  ‘Yes. Did they inform you a tap had been placed on your landline? Say they’ll advise you how to deal with this?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘You understand why the police wouldn’t be a good idea?’ the man said.

  Tavener felt the anger rise. ‘If you harm a hair on Samantha’s head…’

  There was a short silence, then the man replied, ‘That wouldn’t be in either of our interests, would it?’

  Tavener cleared his throat. ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘A hundred thousand pounds in used notes – twenties.’

  ‘That’s a helluva sum to put together at short notice.’

  ‘You’ve got two days,’ the man said. ‘Midday on Friday. I’ll text instructions on how and where to deliver it. Make sure the mobile’s switched off meantime. Switch it o
n again at noon on Friday to read my message. Make sure the cops aren’t with you when you pick up or deliver the cash to me. You’ll need to procure a holdall large enough to fit the money in. The moment we have the cash, Samantha will be released. Is that agreed?’

  Tavener pondered this for a moment, then said, ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Good. No police involvement? You appreciate what that would mean?’

  ‘I do,’ Tavener said. ‘No police involvement.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll speak to you on Friday.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Didn’t expect to see you this morning, Mark,’ Knox said. ‘Thought you were on paternity leave?’

  Knox had just entered Gayfield Square Police Station’s Major Incident Inquiry room and DC Mark Hathaway and DS Fulton were seated at their desks.

  Hathaway, a red-haired man in his early thirties, looked up. ‘Morning, boss,’ he said, then thumbed to a communicating door at the far end of the room. ‘DCI Warburton phoned. Asked if I could come in.’

  ‘Ah,’ Knox said. ‘Clare and the baby okay? It’s a boy, right?’

  ‘She’s managing fine,’ Hathaway said. ‘Aye, it’s a laddie. Eight days old and a fine pair of lungs on him. Like a foghorn. Glad to be out of earshot if I’m honest.’

  ‘Well, I’m happy to have you back, we’re a wee bit shorthanded,’ Knox said.

  Fulton nodded agreement. ‘Goes for me too, son.’

  Knox said, ‘Well, Bill, that only leaves us one body short.’

  ‘Yvonne?’ Fulton said. ‘No, boss, she’s back, too. She’s in the wee girl’s room.’

  At that moment, the door opened at Knox’s back and DC Yvonne Mason, a trim brunette in her mid-twenties, entered the room.

  ‘My ears are burning – someone talking about me?’ she said.

  ‘Bill was just telling me you were back,’ Knox said. ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Mason replied. ‘I am now. Didn’t expect to come down with flu in May, though.’

  ‘It’s the gear you young folk wander around in,’ Fulton said. ‘T-shirts and shorts when it’s blowin’ a gale. Asking for trouble. Ever heard the saying, “Ne’er cast a clout till May be oot?”’

  Mason grinned and shook her head. ‘You’ll be telling me to wear a garlic necklace next.’

  ‘No,’ Fulton said. ‘But it wouldn’t do any harm to add it to a plate of broth. Ideal for keeping colds at bay.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Knox said, smiling. ‘Let’s drop the home remedy suggestions and deal with the job at hand.’

  He crossed to where a picture of Samantha Tavener had been taped to a whiteboard, on which a few lines of text had been scribbled with a marker pen.

  Knox tapped the photograph. ‘Samantha Tavener, twenty years old,’ he said. ‘Left the Commonwealth Pool at approximately 7.45pm yesterday, 15 May. Jogged home to Duddingston via the old Innocent Railway cycle path.

  ‘Last seen being bundled into a dark blue Ford Transit van at approximately 8.30pm in Duddingston Road West. Marks on the path indicate a struggle on the cycleway with one of two cyclists, whose bikes are currently undergoing forensic analysis. A rag impregnated with chloroform, also found on the path, was used to subdue her.

  ‘Her flatmate, a Ms Claudia Wright, phoned her mobile at 10.30pm but the call went to voicemail. Ms Wright waited another hour or so, then called her father. Both Ms Wright and Sir Nigel Tavener phoned to report Samantha missing. Ms Wright at 11. 51pm, Samantha’s father at 11.57pm.’ He paused and added, ‘Any questions?’

  Hathaway said, ‘Has the kidnapper contacted her dad yet, boss?’

  Knox shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know. DCI Warburton has set up an intercept on Sir Nigel’s landline. A specialist team are on their way down from Tulliallan and should arrive in North Berwick around noon. Bill and I will let Sir Nigel know.

  ‘A telecoms link will be set up between East Lothian and this office and the Tulliallan officers will work with us. Their link should be active soon. I’d like you and Yvonne to take charge of monitoring when it’s been established. In the meantime, Bill and I will drive down the coast to interview Tavener. Anything of interest comes to light when we’re down there, let us know, okay?’

  Hathaway and Mason replied in unison, ‘Okay, boss.’

  * * *

  Rather than use the motorway bypass, Knox and Fulton drove to North Berwick via the B1348, one of East Lothian’s most scenic routes. They passed through the mining town of Prestonpans and the fishing village of Port Seton, after which the road wound its way past the Aberlady Bay Nature Reserve and Gullane Golf Club, famous for the Scottish Open.

  Both men remained largely silent during the drive, appreciating the scenery. As they reached the final stretch of road to North Berwick, however, Fulton said, ‘If it is a kidnapping, boss, has Tavener the authority to sanction payment?’

  Knox considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, I think so. Lochmore Distillers is a private company.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure if it was part of some multinational,’ Fulton said. ‘So, he’d be able to access the money quite easily – whatever was asked?’

  ‘It would depend on what arrangements he has with his bank,’ Knox said. ‘But I’d imagine so.’

  Fulton nodded in acknowledgement, then lapsed into silence.

  They arrived at their destination minutes later. Knox steered his car into a tree-lined driveway and came to a halt outside a vine-clad porte cochère.

  Fulton thumbed to the entranceway and said, ‘Nice place.’

  ‘Aye, certainly is,’ Knox said. ‘Producing whisky appears to be a helluva lot better on the pocket than consuming it.’

  Fulton laughed. ‘Aye, boss. You can say that again.’

  Knox rang the doorbell, which was answered by a woman wearing a gingham apron.

  He showed her his warrant card. ‘Good morning. We’re police officers. I think Sir Nigel’s expecting us.’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ the woman replied. ‘Follow me. I’ll show you to his study.’

  A voice behind her said, ‘It’s okay, Mrs Reid, I’m here.’ Tavener glanced at Knox and added. ‘You’ll be Inspector Knox?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Knox said, then motioned to his partner. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Fulton.’

  Tavener extended his hand. ‘Nigel Tavener.’

  They exchanged handshakes, then Tavener showed them into his study and gestured to a pair of armchairs near a large open fireplace.

  ‘Please, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Take a seat.’

  Knox and Fulton did so, then Tavener took a chair from his desk and sat facing the hearth. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Warburton told me to expect you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes sir,’ Knox replied, ‘he said you’d spoken on the telephone.’ Knox took a notebook from his pocket, consulted it, then added, ‘He explained that an intercept has been placed on your line?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tavener said.

  ‘No one’s contacted you yet?’

  ‘No,’ Tavener said. He shifted in his chair. ‘Not yet.’

  Knox said, ‘You’ve a mobile phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s possible the people who took Samantha may try to contact you that way. Your daughter has a mobile with her?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tavener replied. ‘I’m sure she has.’

  Knox nodded. ‘No doubt it’ll have fallen into her abductors’ hands by now. Your number will be on the contact list.’

  ‘You’re able to intercept mobile calls?’ Tavener asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Knox said. ‘A bit trickier. We’d have to triangulate the signal.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘Which company is she with, sir, do you know?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tavener said. ‘Same as mine, the DirectFone network.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Knox said, then consulted his notebook again. ‘DCI Warburton explained it was likely the people who took your daughter would contact you within twenty-four hours, that they’d probably ask for a specific amount of cash
?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’d be able to access this okay?’

  ‘It would depend on the amount,’ Tavener said. ‘But, yes, I’m sure I could.’

  Knox said, ‘May I ask who you bank with?’

  ‘Forth Mercantile Bank in St. Andrew Square,’ Tavener said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Banknotes are bundled in wrappers known as currency straps. There’s a procedure we use which involves a device the thickness of a postage stamp, but half the size. It’s inserted in one of the straps near the bottom of the bag. Enables us to track whoever picks it up. Banks allow the procedure, but we’d need your permission to authorise it.’

  Tavener appeared taken aback. ‘Warburton assured me the safety of my daughter was paramount,’ he said. ‘What happens if the man discovers he’s being followed? All he has to do is signal an accomplice. Samantha’s life would be in danger.’

  Knox shook his head. ‘I give you my word, Sir Nigel. There’s nothing to worry about. The device simply allows us to ascertain where your daughter’s being held. We’d act only if we were a hundred per cent sure of getting her out safely.’

  ‘This man…’ Tavener started to say, then quickly changed tack, ‘… I mean, these men, could be psychopaths.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m frightened for her safety.’

  ‘I understand your concerns, sir, believe me,’ Knox said. ‘But I repeat, we wouldn’t make any kind of move which would compromise that.’

  Tavener remained silent for a long moment, then gave a resigned shrug. ‘So, what happens now?’

  Knox said, ‘I recommend you follow DCI Warburton’s advice, sir. It’s important when you receive a call that you play for time. If any demand for money is made, tell the caller you need a bit longer – two or three days to arrange the withdrawal.’ Knox stood and looked at his watch. ‘Meanwhile, some specialist officers are on their way to monitor your landline from here and keep an eye on any comings or goings. Detective Sergeant Fulton and I will head back to Edinburgh and await developments.’ Knox paused, then added. ‘Don’t worry, Sir Nigel. We’ll get your daughter back safely.’