‘Mum would never have gone out swimming by herself,’ she protested. ‘Would she? Oh my God! The coastguard. There must be a coastguard here.’
Lucy raced from the room with her father hurrying at her heels. The receptionist in the hotel stared at them vacantly, flicking shoulder length black hair off her heavily made-up face.
‘You want to report a problem, sir?’ she asked with as much animation as if Lucy’s father was ordering a newspaper for the morning. The phone rang and she reached for it.
‘Leave that,’ Lucy snapped. ‘This is an emergency. It can’t wait.’
‘An emergency?’
‘Yes, it’s my wife—’
‘Your wife?’
‘She went to the beach this afternoon—’
‘Your wife went to the beach this afternoon?’
‘Yes.’
Lucy’s father slapped the counter impatiently, struggling with the effort to speak calmly. Lucy took over, explaining that she and her father had been out all day and had only discovered on their return that her mother was missing.
‘Your mother is missing?’
Suddenly grasping the seriousness of the situation, the receptionist called the night duty manager who immediately took them to his office where he took down a few details and promptly contacted the coastguard.
‘They’re on their way.’
Blinking rapidly he removed his spectacles and wiped them fussily on a large white handkerchief. A local man, he looked very young and inexperienced. He hardly inspired confidence in a crisis. Lucy insisted he instigate an immediate search of the hotel and the grounds. Replacing his glasses the manager rubbed his hands together nervously and cleared his throat.
‘The coastguard will be outside soon. Any minute now, in fact. And I’m sure – I’m sure everything will turn out well in the end. That is, I’m sure your wife is fine. It’s – I’m sure we’ll find her safe and sound.’
He gave a tense rictus that barely passed for a reassuring smile and rose to his feet.
‘Can I offer you a drink? Courtesy of the hotel. This must be very difficult for you just now. Until we find your wife, that is.’
‘Never mind the sodding drink, wake up all the staff and start looking for my wife. She could be lying unconscious somewhere in the hotel grounds.’
The manager coughed and picked up the phone. Lucy was relieved that something was being done, but summoning the coastguard gave the situation a reality she did not want to believe. When they left the manager’s office she scanned the hotel foyer, hoping to see her mother, then borrowed her father’s key and ran back up to the room in case she had returned. Praying under her breath, she opened the door, but her parents’ room was empty. Leaving a note asking her mother to call her father at once, she hurried back downstairs. Together she and her father went down to the beach, looking around them as they went, desperately hoping to spot her mother fast asleep on a sun lounger. Meanwhile, the hotel manager had mobilised available staff to search the premises. It was possible Lucy’s mother had passed out, or fallen and hit her head. The idea of her lying, unconscious, somewhere in the hotel grounds, was less terrifying than the thought that she might have been swept out to sea, and lost for ever.
As Lucy and her father reached the beach below the hotel, they heard the roar of a helicopter overhead. At the same time a powerful beam of light swept along the sand beside them and out across the vast expanse of water. Lucy followed it with her eyes, scrutinising the waves for any sign of movement.
‘If she’s out there, they’ll find her,’ the hotel manager said, joining them on the sand. Disconsolately they watched the beam of light as it circled continuously above the dark water, searching.
‘Is she a strong swimmer?’
Lucy’s father shook his head. ‘Not a strong swimmer, no.’
‘But she can swim,’ Lucy added quickly. ‘She can swim.’
‘She would never have gone out in the water by herself,’ her father said emphatically, as though he was trying to convince himself.
Lucy and the hotel manager looked at him but neither of them spoke. It was a clear night. A small crowd of spectators gathered on the beach, attracted by the helicopter. Lucy’s father put his arm around her. Together they watched a rescue boat zoom out across the waves to vanish into the darkness.
The waiting was excruciating. After about half an hour Adrian joined them, enquiring if there was any news of Angela and whether there was anything he could do. Lucy shook her head. There was nothing any of them could do but wait and pray. No one mentioned drowning. But as time went on, and there was no news, the likelihood of finding her mother alive grew increasingly remote.
14
ANGELA CROUCHED ON THE floor, listening intently. The next time her captor returned to the hut, she would be ready. In the hushed mountain forest she thought she could make out the distant drone of an engine, followed by footsteps shuffling through leaves. She waited. For a long time nothing happened. At last she heard the bolt slide across and the door swung open. Leaping forward, she kicked out as hard as she could. Aiming at where she thought her captor was standing, her foot jerked uselessly in empty air. An instant later a crack on the side of her head knocked her to the floor where she lay, writhing and terrified. A head injury could cause serious damage. A few seconds later the door banged shut and she heard the bolt slide across. She was alone, frightened and in pain, and desperate for the toilet. So much for her attempted escape.
She tugged at the chain, using all her weight. It was firmly attached to the wall. Clearly someone had been preparing to use this isolated place as a prison. She wondered whether other gullible tourists had been chained up in the hut while demands for money had been issued, or if this had all been set up just for her. She might be the random victim of a kidnapper, but her abductor had referred to her as ‘George’s wife’. It was hard to avoid the conclusion that her abduction was linked to Veronique, the mysterious woman from her husband’s past. She sank to her knees and tried to analyse her situation objectively. If killing her was the purpose, she would already be dead. The fact that she was being kept alive indicated that money was the real objective, despite her kidnapper’s protestations to the contrary. George had probably already been contacted with a ransom demand. Unless something different lay behind her capture: vengeance.
She sat back on her heels and did her best to think clearly. Through the flimsy fabric of her skirt she could feel springy moss beneath a thick layer of petals. Their cloying scent mingled unpleasantly with an odour of damp and decay, and the all-pervading odour of her own vomit. Through her hazy confusion she tried to remember everything her assailant had said. There had been a reference to George, and a comment to the effect that it had been a long time. From the reference to George to the insistence this was not about money, everything suggested her attacker was a jealous ex-lover. It could only be the woman George had written to.
‘Who is Veronique?’ she shouted out.
No one answered.
There was no point in dwelling on the ramblings of a lunatic. She had to focus on making her escape before her strength faded. It was not going to be easy. Her last attempt had ended badly. Clambering to her feet she was dismayed at how weak she had already become. Her legs trembled so much she could barely stand. She took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. The intake of warm humid air made her cough. In a sudden fit of desperation, she shook the chain that tied her to the wall. It rattled violently but remained firmly embedded in the wood. Leaning closer, she felt her way along the wall and found where the ring was attached to it with a gigantic metal staple. There was no way she could hope to yank it out. Her next thought was to work her hand free, but that was impossible. The manacle gripped her so tightly she could barely move her wrist inside it. There was not even enough space for her to slip the little finger of her other hand in between the metal and her trapped flesh. She bit her lip and tasted blood on her tongue, reminding her that she had drunk nothi
ng since leaving the hotel. As though she had pressed a switch, her brain began to pound and she felt lightheaded. When she closed her eyes bright spots of light pierced her mind like needles, forcing her to keep her eyes open.
Sharp splinters pricked her fingers as she felt her way along the wall to the extent that her shackles allowed. Her area of exploration was limited. The side of the hut was made of solid vertical planks of wood, the surface of the wood pitted and rough. She scrabbled and scratched at it in a desperate attempt to pick away at the wood, succeeding only in breaking her nails and tearing the flesh from her fingertips until they were raw and stung painfully. In a corner she discovered a metal grid nailed into the wall. She slid her fingers through the holes and tried to shake it. The grid would not budge. She felt around the frame with her fingers. It was nailed to the wall. There was no way of moving it. She leaned back against the wall, shaking with disappointment. Slowly she slid down the wall until she was crouching on the floor, squatting on a bed of petals. In a frenzy of disgust, she dug a hole in the earth, sobbing as she buried her own excrement. Although she patted the earth down and covered it with petals the stench persisted, clinging to her skirt and hands, permeating the foul air.
She must have fallen asleep because when she opened her eyes, she was lying on her front. She propped herself up against the wall, dazed, until a noise startled her into consciousness. The bolt was being slid back. As the door opened she scrambled to her feet. The defiant speech she had rehearsed during the night evaporated on her parched lips as she heard the sound of pouring water. The cold rim of a cup was pressed against her bottom lip. Greedily she drank. The water tasted brackish, but she gulped it down regardless. Ignoring water spilling down her shirt, she kept swallowing until the cup was empty. She took a deep breath. She was not going to die.
‘Thank you. I was thirsty. Now, please, let me go. My hands hurt.’
The only answer was a burst of hoarse laughter. Angela shuffled backwards until her shoulders hit the wall.
‘Who are you?’
There was no reply. Desperately, Angela repeated her question. This time the dry voice rasped close to her ear. She felt the warmth of a breath on her skin.
‘Veronique.’
‘What do you want from me?’ she cried out in exasperation, too weak for anger.
‘The dark angel does not forget.’
A moment later she heard the door close. As the bolt slid across, she gave way to helpless tears. Her legs shaking, she slid down to the floor and squatted on her haunches. She wished the madwoman would either let her go, or else kill her quickly. This slow torture was unbearable.
15
THE MORNING WAS HALF over. Despite the trauma of her mother’s disappearance, Lucy had slept deeply when she had finally gone to bed, exhausted by the night’s troubles. Now it was time to face whatever the day had in store. Encouraged by the news that the coastguard had found no sign of her mother at sea, she called on her father and they went down for a late breakfast together. He tried to remain practical as they turned over all the possibilities. They both agreed that the most likely explanation was that Angela had wandered off and fallen ill, or lost her memory, perhaps as a result of falling and sustaining a head injury. Those were the only ways they could account for her failure to contact them. At least twelve hours had elapsed since she had disappeared, and maybe as long as twenty-four hours. It was frustrating that they had no idea what time she had left the hotel.
While her father spoke to the hotel manager, Lucy questioned everyone she saw. She approached other hotel guests, as well as porters, receptionists, security guards, bar staff and cleaners, but no one had noticed her mother leave the hotel. A couple of the guests recognised Angela’s photograph and thought they had seen her by the pool the previous day, but they were not sure exactly what time they had seen her. Other than that, no one could remember having seen her on the day she had vanished. At last Lucy ran out of people to ask. She phoned Adrian to ask if he had heard anything, but none of the hotel staff he had spoken to that morning remembered seeing her mother the previous day.
‘I really need to work,’ he apologised, as though he was somehow letting her down. ‘But call me if there’s anything I can do. Just ask for me at reception and I’ll come over straight away.’
The hotel manager had already contacted the hospital. Nevertheless, Lucy’s father wanted to go there himself to make sure his wife had not been admitted as a patient. On the way, he said he would go to the police and report his wife missing. There was so much to be done. The previous night he had given way to despair. Now his plans, combined with the daylight, seemed to have put him in a more positive frame of mind. Lucy understood that he needed to keep busy. After a brief discussion, they agreed she should accompany her father. She had a feeling he was reluctant to let her out of his sight. Leaving instructions with the hotel manager, the staff at the reception desk and the security guards that George was to be contacted the minute Angela showed up, they set off.
They went first to the regional police station, only a short distance from the hotel on a junction just beyond the row of supermarkets. A large clear sign identified the police station. Beautiful well-tended flowering bushes grew on either side of large double doors. Inside, a woman was sitting behind the counter, chatting to a young police officer in uniform. Glancing around, Lucy saw a door with a notice, ‘Detainees WC’, just past a row of wooden lockers, and a sign on the wall: ‘Service without fear, favour, affection or ill-will’. There was a photograph of the president on the wall, and another of the commissioner of police. As she looked around, she listened to the young policeman who noted down what her father was saying. The officer said he would pass the details on to the Central Police Station in Victoria, which would organise a search if her mother failed to return very soon. He gave her father a card and urged him to contact the station as soon as his wife turned up.
When they left, Lucy suggested they go to the police headquarters after stopping at the hospital, just to make sure the message had got through.
Her father replied that he had been thinking the same thing himself. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust that young officer,’ he added. ‘He only has to call the central station, but we might as well check, just to be on the safe side. And I know the hotel manager contacted the hospital, and Adrian said he called them as well, but it won’t do any harm for us to go there. We leave no stone unturned. If she’s lost her memory, she might be there without anyone having identified her. And I want to leave my number with them myself in case she turns up in a few days. If she’s confused, anything could happen.’
‘Yes, let’s not trust this to anyone else.’
Lucy hoped her father was not taking on too much, but she realised that keeping busy helped them to stay positive. They clung to the idea that her mother was suffering from some form of temporary amnesia. It also meant she might make a full recovery. Anything else was too painful to contemplate.
They spoke very little on the way to the hospital. Worried about her father, Lucy had suggested they ask Adrian for a lift, but her father was not sure how long their various visits would take, and Adrian’s time away from his desk would be limited.
The hospital consisted of a complex of white buildings with different coloured roofs set against a dramatic backdrop of dark green hills. The woman on reception was attentive and helpful but adamant that no blonde English tourist had been admitted within the past twenty-four hours, with or without any memory loss.
‘Are you sure?’ Lucy asked several times, until the receptionist became annoyed. ‘Can you just double check?’
‘I already told you we had no one admitted in the last twenty-four hours who isn’t accounted for. We know the identity of every one of our patients, even the very elderly who don’t always know their own names. We know who they are, all of them. If your mother was here, we’d know about it.’
‘Well, it’s a good thing she’s not there,’ Lucy said as they walked back to
the car in the blazing sunshine. ‘At least now we know she’s not been taken seriously ill.’
Her father agreed. She could tell he was trying to sound positive, but his voice wobbled. Lucy understood why. If Angela was not ill, the truth might prove to be far worse.
‘Where to now, Dad?’
‘Next stop the Central Police Station. I’m sure they’ll sort out this mess in no time. I expect we’ll find she’s been there all along. She probably had too much to drink and they picked her up, or something. Perhaps she spent the night in a cell at the police station.’ His laughter sounded unconvincing to both of them. ‘I’m sure they’ll be able to help anyway.’
‘Yes. After all, she’s only been gone overnight.’
They stayed doggedly optimistic, each aware they were they putting on a show for each other’s benefit. Neither of them wanted to be first to crack and admit out loud that they thought Angela might already be dead. Remembering her fears for her own safety, Lucy wondered if the person who had attacked her had now turned on her mother, with fatal consequences. She did not mention that possibility to her father. Telling herself her own fears were unfounded, she took his arm and assured him they were bound to find her mother soon.
It took them a while to find the car park in Victoria from where it was a only short walk to the police station. They went into an office marked ‘Reception’. A woman behind the desk directed them to another entrance further along the street. This office was marked ‘Enquiries’. The mission statement on the wall in Beau Vallon police station was displayed here too: ‘Service without fear, favour, affection or ill-will’, as was a photograph of the Commissioner of Police. A smiling young officer greeted them. On hearing the reason for their visit, he looked instantly concerned and asked Lucy’s father to fill in a form to register his wife as a missing person. While her father was writing down the details, Lucy checked her mobile for the twentieth time that morning. As she was looking at it, they overheard the policeman talking on the phone.
Journey to Death Page 9
