by Alex Carver
“You’re probably right,” Stone remarked. “There isn’t much out there, other than farms. We’ll find out soon enough anyway; as soon as we’ve apprised Mr Keating of this latest news, we’ll be heading out there.”
It didn’t surprise Stone to see that Owen Keating was still with them when PC Slater brought the surveillance van to a stop at the side of the road, behind the patrol car and ambulance which had responded to the situation. He would have preferred that Keating had gone home, as he had advised, but Stone couldn’t blame the man – if their situations had been reversed he didn’t doubt that he would have ignored the advice, and insisted on being there to be sure that his daughter was alright.
Once out of the van, Stone made his slow way up the road to find out what the situation was, aware that he was being left behind by the faster moving Inspector Evans. He didn’t let that trouble him, though.
“Where’s Alice Keating?” Stone asked of the two constables standing by the Audi, and the man who, he assumed, was its driver. He looked around while he waited for an answer.
It fell to Constable Archer, the older and more senior of the two, to answer the question, “She’s in the back of the ambulance, sir. The paramedics checked her over as soon as they got here and then put her in the back to rest her feet; she hurt ‘em some running up the drive,” he explained, gesturing to the dirt drive a short distance from them, which ran perpendicular to the road until it reached the yard surrounding a pleasant two-storey farmhouse.
Proving the constable’s statement of where Alice Keating was, there came a cry of ‘Daddy’, followed by a rocking of the ambulance as the schoolgirl hurtled into sight from the rear of the emergency vehicle to throw herself into her father’s arms, seeking his comfort.
Stone wavered between walking back to talk to the girl who had been kidnapped, and staying where he was to get the rest of whatever information was available. After a moment, he decided to leave Alice for the time being, it was clear that she was not seriously hurt, and he felt it best to leave her to be comforted by her father following her ordeal. That decision made, he turned his attention back to the two constables.
“Tell us what’s happened here,” he instructed the constable who had spoken previously.
Archer grimaced, he wished he was better able to answer the inspector. “We don’t really know,” he admitted. “Mr Wilkins – he indicated the civilian – was driving along when Alice Keating ran out in front of him, followed by a guy; he managed to avoid Miss Keating, who disappeared into the woods, but couldn’t avoid the guy. He hit him with his car and the guy was left unconscious on the ground, which is probably just as well because he had a gun when he ran out into the road.”
“Where’s the gun now, and the guy?” Stone asked. He was a little disturbed by the news that the kidnappers had a weapon, especially a gun, but was relieved that the gun hadn’t been used, a relief that was quickly stripped from him.
“The guy’s been taken to hospital, and the gun’s still in the road,” Archer told him. “It’s been made safe, but we didn’t want to touch it and disturb any evidence – it’s been fired.”
“At least twice,” John Wilkins volunteered. “I heard two gunshots before the girl ran out in front of my car.”
“Who made the gun safe?” Evans asked.
The question surprised Stone, who thought it would have been more appropriate to ask about the gunshots – had they been aimed at anyone, and if so had they been hurt. He chose to wait until his fellow inspector’s query was answered before he put forth his own question, however, deciding there was no point in bombarding the constable with enquiries, when there was plenty of time to find out all there was to know.
With Alice no longer in the hands of her kidnappers, the urgency to get answers and to act on them was gone, though Stone realised that the press would still push for any and all loose ends to be cleared up as quickly as possible.
“I did,” John Wilkins answered the question, and then the follow-up he saw on the inspector’s face, “I was in the army until a couple of years ago, so I’ve got plenty of experience at handling weapons. I ejected the clip, and the round in the chamber, then I tossed the clip and the gun in opposite directions. I was pretty sure the guy I hit with my car was out of it, but I didn’t want to risk him being able to use the gun again, not easily anyway.”
Stone nodded. “Sensible of you.”
John gave a grim smile. “I’ve been a shot at enough times not to want to have it happen again, especially on home soil.”
Stone didn’t imagine that anyone wanted to get shot at, but he supposed someone who had been through such an experience was going to be even more determined not to repeat it. “Was anyone hurt by the gunshots?” he asked concernedly of Archer. His concern deepened when the constable nodded.
“Yes,” Archer said regretfully. “Miss Keating was hit by one of the bullets – it’s only a graze,” he reassured Stone hurriedly. “She has a minor wound on her arm, nothing serious, she’s been checked over by the paramedics and will be okay. The guy in the house, whom we assume is one of the kidnappers, is badly hurt, however; we don’t know the circumstances – if Miss Keating knows, she isn’t saying at this time, but he’s been shot in the stomach, and has lost a fair amount of blood. We found him upstairs in a room we think is the one Miss Keating was kept in.”
Once he had all the information the uniformed officers and John Wilkins could provide, Stone left them and started up the drive to the farmhouse, Evans at his side. When they reached the yard in front of the house, the two inspectors examined the van, which stood near the front door, briefly, after that they circled the house, and then looked into the barn at the rear of the yard. Their external search of the property complete, they returned to the front of the house, and the door that stood open, where Burke was waiting for them.
Stone began reeling off instructions the moment he got there, instructions Burke scribbled in his pad. “I want both men identified asap; if they’ve got records, I want a rundown of their known associates - where they are, what they’re doing, and the likelihood of them being the third kidnapper. If they aren’t already on the way, I want a SOCO team en-route immediately, with a truck so they can take the van away and strip it down, and I want the house gone through with a fine-tooth comb; there’s got to be something here that’ll identify the third kidnapper. “Lastly, I want to know who owns this farmhouse; is it one of the men here, and if it isn’t, who does own it, and what’s their connection to this.
“Can you think of anything else that needs doing?” he asked of Evans.
57
For perhaps the dozenth time that night, Ryan Keating, known to his partners-in-crime as Jim, checked his phone – there was no message from Crash, and no missed call either, leaving him to wonder what had happened. It was almost one a.m. and he should have heard from his partner. He couldn’t imagine what might have gone wrong, the plan was simple to follow, and that should have helped to ensure there were no problems, but the lack of communication from Crash had him worried. He didn’t worry too much, however, since he was sure he would have heard from his father if anything bad had happened.
He threw back the last of his tequila, slammed the glass down on the table, unlocked his phone, and was scrolling through the phone book in search of Crash’s number when good sense stopped him. Without knowing why he hadn’t been in touch, he realised that calling Crash was dangerous, and likely to put him at risk of exposure.
Frustrated, he got to his feet and stuffed his phone into his pocket, where he would feel it vibrate if he was called or he received a text, he then made his way through the tables. Reaching the stairs to the ground floor, he grabbed the banister for support, not at all certain that he would make it down safely if he didn’t. He wasn’t drunk, though he had had plenty to drink, but he was unsteady on his feet, and he didn’t want to fall.
Normally, he would have stopped at the dance floor to see if there was anyone who might catch
his eye; he nearly always found someone willing to join him for some naked gymnastics. This time, however, he ignored the dancefloor, and the assortment of scantily dressed girls who were showing enough skin between them to tempt the most devout of religious figures into sin, and weaved his way towards the exit.
The fresh air hit him like a blow from a boxer when he stepped outside; it left him reeling, and one of the security staff on the door moved to assist him. He recovered his equilibrium after a few moments and waved away the unwanted help. Steadier on his feet, though still wobbly, despite being on ground that was completely flat and free of obstructions, Ryan made his way down the road, his feet tracing a path that was far from straight.
Two hundred yards from The Black Hole’s entrance was the car park, where he had left his mother’s Jaguar – his father had refused to let him buy another vehicle after his most recent crash left him minus both a car and a license, so he had been forced to borrow his mother’s and drive illegally. He revved the engine briefly, before reversing out of his parking space, and racing from the car park.
Only a fraction of his attention was on the road as he drove away from the club, most it was on the phone in his pocket as he willed it to ring, or to vibrate in announcement of a text message. He wondered if Crash was ever going to get in touch, and if the lack of communication meant he was having a hard time evading the police with the ransom he had collected – he shouldn’t be having a hard time, not as far as Ryan was concerned, it should have been a fairly straightforward thing for him to have done.
He felt a shiver of excitement run through him in anticipation of the news that his sister was dead. He had hated her from the moment she was born – hated her for taking his parents’ love, hated her for being so perfect, and for the praise and rewards she received for the slightest thing, when no matter what he achieved or how hard he worked he was ignored. Most of all he hated her for stealing his inheritance.
It had been bad enough when she was only to receive half - half the business, half the house, and half the fortune his father’s company had made; he didn’t know exactly how rich his father was, but he did know he was worth a very great deal, over a hundred million pounds, and that didn’t include the company. His father’s threat to cut him out of the will, and to leave everything to Alice, had incensed Ryan, magnifying the hatred he felt for his sister, and inspiring him to think of ways to get rid of her and safeguard his inheritance.
The drive from the club to his family’s home passed in a pleasurable consideration of what he would do with his inheritance when he got his hands on it. Thoughts of what he would do, and where he would go, were driven from his mind, however, when he reached the road on which his family’s home stood, and he encountered the crowd of reporters and journalists who were eagerly awaiting the latest news.
Questions were shouted at him from all parts of the crowd, which was still sizeable despite the lateness of the hour; questions about where he had been, what he had been up to, what he thought of his sister’s kidnapping, whether he knew how much the ransom demanded for his sister’s safe return was, and if the rumour was true that the ransom was being paid tonight.
Photographs were taken as the questions were asked, with the result that the rude gesture he made – he flipped them the bird – when he got fed up of the questions, was sure to appear in pretty much every national newspaper, and at least a few other places, come morning. He didn’t give a damn about that, though; if his plan went as it was supposed to, the news would have more important things to report on than his rudeness.
A minute or so of meandering brought Ryan to the front door, which was already being held open by Mr Chambers, and he walked through without acknowledging the house-manager. He made straight for the library doors and looked around; the moment he saw the uniformed constable slouched in the reading chair by the window he asked, “What’s going on with the ransom drop?”
The constable leaped from the chair as though someone had set off a bomb under him, a look of intense embarrassment on his face at having been caught relaxing in such a way.
58
His steps a little more rapid than before he reached the hospital, thanks to the powerful painkillers he had talked out of a doctor, and multiple cups of extra sweet, black coffee, Stone entered the private room where Alice had been placed.
The teen, despite being visibly both tired and affected by the ordeal she had been through over the last couple of days, was sitting up in bed and sipping from a steaming mug; on the table that was positioned over the bed was a plate, on which Stone saw an assortment of biscuits and cakes, while next to the bed, holding his daughter’s hand as if he intended never letting her go, was Owen Keating.
Whether it was because of her ordeal, or because her father was rich, Stone wasn’t sure, but he got the impression that Alice Keating was being treated with more than the usual amount of care by the hospital staff. It was an impression that was quickly proved right as a nurse bustled in, neatly side-stepping him as he manoeuvred a chair closer to the bed, bearing a tablet, of the electronic variety, which she set on the table.
“I borrowed this from one of the doctors,” she said with a smile. “You’ve been given something to help you sleep, but just in case it takes a while to take effect, I thought you might like something to help you relax and take your mind off things. It’s got some movies on it, and some games and books, though I wouldn’t like to guarantee Dr Jenson’s taste when it comes to either films or books. He said you can add whatever you like, and not to worry about it.”
“Thank you,” Alice said with a wan but grateful smile. She made no move to pick up the tablet, she was far more interested in warming herself, both physically and emotionally, with the super-creamy hot chocolate she had been brought.
Stone waited until the nurse had finished bustling about, making sure that Alice was comfortable and needed nothing, and had left, and then he got down to things. “I realise you’ve been through a traumatic experience over the last couple of days, Miss Keating, and I don’t mean to be insensitive, but if you feel up to it, I’d like to hear your account of what happened, while it’s still fresh in your mind.”
Owen Keating raised his eyes to the inspector, an unhappy look of protest on his face.
“I know you’d rather I leave things for the time being, Mr Keating,” Stone said, injecting as much compassion into his voice as he could. “This is important, though. We know there were three men involved in your daughter’s kidnapping – out the corner of his eye he saw Alice tense up and blanche, and he wished he didn’t have to add to her distress – and that two of them were caught tonight, and are currently under guard here in the hospital, but we still need to catch the third member of the gang. Any information Alice can give us will help us to catch the last of her kidnappers.
“Every delay, no matter how small, gives him time to get away; I’m sure you don’t want that.”
“It’s okay, dad,” Alice said before her father could respond to the inspector’s words. “I don’t mind talking about it.” A barely audible quaver in her voice betrayed the fact that she wasn’t quite as okay with things as she claimed.
Stone studied Alice’s face for a few moments before he nodded and asked his first question, “Can you tell me what you remember of events from Wednesday, when you were snatched from your father’s car?”
Alice didn’t answer straight away; she sipped at the last of her hot chocolate, and nibbled on a chocolate digestive before speaking. “Brian was driving Julia and me home after school. Oh my God! Julia, is she alright?” she asked concernedly, remembering her friend for the first time since she woke in the farmhouse where her kidnappers had taken her.
“She’s fine,” Stone reassured her quickly. “She was in shock for a while, but she went home earlier today, yesterday I mean,” he corrected himself when he remembered that it was past midnight.
Alice accepted that news with a grateful nod and then continued with her story, “We wer
e stopped at some traffic lights when Brian suddenly yelled ‘Kidnap’ and a van pulled up alongside daddy’s car…”
It took some time for Alice to tell her story, covering everything that had happened to her over the past two and a half days, which was both a lot and not very much – her story drew gasps of dismay and looks of disgust, especially when she spoke of having to use a bucket for a toilet, from her father. When she was done, Stone was left with a feeling of frustration; it seemed obvious, even from her first retelling, that no matter how closely she was questioned, Alice would not be able to tell him anything about the third member of the gang that had kidnapped her. All he could do was hope that something would be found at the farmhouse by the forensics team, or that one or other of the two men they had under watch in the hospital would decide to give up their partner when questioned.
59
Ryan’s throat burned as the tequila ran down it from the bottle he was holding, but he didn’t care, he didn’t even notice. How could things have gone so badly wrong? The question repeated itself over and over in his mind, while his ears were assaulted by the music of Aerosmith, which was blasting out from the expensive stereo system in his room. The plan had been simple, thought up by him, and refined by the three of them, him, Crash and Lewis - there was no reason why it should have gone wrong, not to such an extent.
It was bad enough that his sister was still alive – her continued existence meant there was still a barrier between him and certainty of inheriting his father’s fortune, but at least she had no idea that he was involved in her kidnapping. Worse was the news that his partners had been caught by the police; it was only a minor comfort to him that, according to the constable downstairs in the library, both men were unconscious and seriously hurt, one of them having been shot and the other hit by a car.
Lifting the bottle to his lips, he swallowed more of the burning liquid while he considered his problem. His first thought was that he should find a way to sneak into the hospital and deal with Crash and Lewis, before they could wake up and reveal his involvement with the kidnapping. He had trusted Crash with taking care of his sister and collecting the ransom, half of which was to go to him, a trust that had clearly been misplaced, but he didn’t trust him to keep quiet now that he was in custody. Similarly, he was sure that Lewis would sell him out at the first opportunity, though for different reasons to Crash.