****
Dave Morley showed as much enthusiasm as Ellen Fairfeld when confronted with the implication of being a suspect or accessory in Dena’s disappearance. He became belligerent and suddenly knowledgeable about law and police powers. Jamie was spared Trevor Pennell’s protestations and emotion for the time being, Trevor being in class and unable to be disturbed until classes had recessed for the day.
Which left Ron Pennell in Jamie’s immediate future.
Jamie’s talk late afternoon with Ron didn’t go well, from either person’s viewpoint. He had closed the front door of his house and started down the front path when Jamie came up to him. His shoulders and neck stiffened as Jamie produced his warrant card. At the first question he eyed Jamie through partially lowered eyelids.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ron fidgeted with his car key.
“But you don’t deny Dena Ellison spoke to you.”
“Who the hell is this woman? First some half-crazed berk wants to know and assaults me on my doorstep, now you ask. I wish to heaven I’d never heard the name.”
Great. Mike’s stirring up more trouble. When Jamie found him he was really going to get a lecture. Jamie mentally counted to ten, desperate to keep his composure. “I’m not partnered with anyone else asking about Ms. Ellison. I’m conducting a police inquiry about her. Has she spoken to you or not?”
“I don’t deny it, we talked. It was this past Sunday, I believe. She came up to me at the Minstrels Court. A man and a woman were with her. They’ll corroborate that if you think I’m lying.”
“What did you talk about?”
“What did we talk about? Are you serious?” He stopped beside his car and pointed his right index finger at Jamie. “Since when is it illegal to have a conversation with a potential customer?”
“That’s the topic of your conversation?”
“I don’t see what business it is of yours, even if you are a copper.” He sniffed, as though smelling something suspicious. “Why are you asking? This is all very odd. I don’t know anything about this woman other than she talked to me at the castle. I don’t know where she went afterwards, I don’t know why she’s gone missing, and I haven’t seen her since. You’ll have to be satisfied with that because I have to leave now.” He got into his car and slammed the door, keeping the window rolled up until he turned onto a major road.
Jamie watched him drive away amazed he’d reacted in that manner. He’d experienced witnesses and suspects who evaded questions, but never with a person who was neither. And the old adage that some people didn’t like to get mixed up in a police inquiry didn’t quite explain Ron’s refusal to talk. He hadn’t accused Ron of anything; no one knew of Dena’s disappearance—except her captor. Jamie’s car tires left black marks on the concrete as he sped after the man.
Jamie easily kept Ron in view for not only was the traffic light, but also they had driven only a few minutes. And still within the town.
He parked several cars behind Ron’s, on a residential street not far from his house. There were enough vehicles so his own car wouldn’t be noticeable. Ron got out, grabbed a picnic hamper from the backseat, and walked up to the house. He let himself in and quickly shut the door.
Jamie waited thirty seconds to be certain he hadn’t just delivered the hamper and would come out immediately. But the door remained closed. Jamie jogged to the front door and peered through the large window next to the door; nothing looked unusual. The room held no one. He listened at the door. Silence greeted him.
Jamie rang the bell. No one came. He pounded on the door, determined now that he would stay there all day if he had to—whatever he had to do to unravel this mystery. He was about to knock again when Ron opened the door.
His eyes widened, his mouth opened as though he were about to hit a high C note. A sound like the beginning of a gargle escaped his lips. His fingers tightened around the edge of the door. He stepped back swiftly and tried to close the door, but Jamie was quicker. He was inside the house before Ron could move.
“Anything the problem?” Jamie asked, his gaze darting around the room. Everything seemed in order but there was no sign of the picnic hamper.
Ron took another step backward and forced a smile. His eyes darted to his left, then back at Jamie. “Why no, constable. Why would there be? Something wrong?” He pulled in the corners of his mouth and swallowed, staring at Jamie for some explanation. His head slanted slightly to his left, as though he were listening for something. When Jamie didn’t answer, he asked the question again.
“I just thought you might be in trouble. You seemed rather agitated back at your house, and I was concerned about your welfare.”
“You followed me here.”
“Yes. I wanted to make certain you were all right.”
“Well, I am. Thank you for your concern. Now, I really must be leaving.” He took a step toward the door.
“You have a key to this house. You and your wife own two houses?”
“No.”
“No you don’t have a key, or no you don’t own two houses?”
“The, uh, houses. We’ve only the one.”
“The previous one? Where I met you several minutes ago?”
Ron bit his lower lip. Jamie waited patiently, his arms across his chest, his gaze steady. Glancing again to his left, Ron said, “Yes. That’s ours. I’m just house sitting this one for a friend. She’s out of town for a bit. She asked me to check things periodically, feed the dog…you know.”
“Nice that you could do that for her. What kind of dog does your friend have? May I see him? I like dogs.”
“Uh, no. He’s in the basement. He’s not very good around strangers. Sorry.”
“Surely it wouldn’t hurt just to look at him. From the top step, perhaps? Where is the basement door—by the garage?” He headed for the back of the house, looking for the kitchen. Ron ran after him, calling.
“No! Really! He’s a terribly excitable dog. You’ll just work him into a tizzy if you look in.”
“Surely just standing on the step and looking won’t bother him.” Jamie stood in the hallway, unsure of where to go, when a scream exploded behind one of the bedroom doors.
He glanced at Ron, angry and surprised, then turned the lock in the doorknob and pushed the door open. Dena stood against the wall, her body turned toward the door. Her hands and legs were tied, but her eyes and mouth were free, the folded bandanas on the floor next to the picnic hamper.
“Bloody hell. My God, Dena…” Jamie gave the swiftest glance at Dena before he grabbed Ron’s wrist, handcuffed him and marched him into the room. “Get on the ground,” he yelled, though Ron and Dena had no trouble hearing him in the quiet. “Now!” he barked. “ON THE GROUND.” He twisted Ron’s upper arm, forcing him first to his knees, then fully down on his stomach. When he lay facedown on the floor Jamie stood over him for a moment, breathing rapidly in his intense anger. His right hand tightened into a fist and he contemplated—for the merest second—slamming it into Ron’s face. Mike wouldn’t condemn him for doing it, Jamie thought, his body flooding with hatred for the man at his feet. Mike would do what he was thinking, wouldn’t hesitate if he had found Ron with Dena. But he wouldn’t condone it either, Jamie realized, and was surprised to discover that he was panting. His fingers slowly relaxed and uncurled as he stared at Ron. He took a deep breath, and, to protect himself and Dena, and to control Ron, he knelt over the man, his right knee on his right ear, his left knee on his back. Still in this position, he grabbed his mobile phone, punched in a number, and asked the police dispatcher to send an officer, police car, and police surgeon to the house. After ringing off, he grabbed Ron’s forearm, forced him to his feet, and looked at Dena. “Wait here for a minute,” he told her, pausing in the open doorway. His voice, hard and flat, retained the dregs of his emotions. “Can you do that? You won’t be afraid?” He studied her as she said she’d be all right. Nodding, he turned back to Ron and led him from the house.
****
After he turned Ron over to the constable, Jamie jogged back into the house. He heard a voice singing ‘Cold, Haily, Rainy Night.’ An odd choice, since the song dealt with love betrayed. But maybe not, Jamie reconsidered. The song served as the theme song for McLaren’s folk singing group. Perhaps it brought McLaren closer to Dena. Jamie hurried to the bedroom. The words came in spurts, the phrases separated, perhaps from pauses for breath. A note or two cracked or faded into silence, but the lyric came back more forceful seconds later. Jamie came into the room as Dena sang ‘Soldier, will you marry me?’
“Don’t give up your day job.” Jamie forced a lightheartedness into his voice to ease the tension. He hurried to her, assessing her physical condition.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks and her voice quivered when she tried to speak. Jamie shook his head, indicating she shouldn’t exert herself, and reached for her, then hesitated, torn between wanting to hug her or untie her first.
“I won’t sing anymore, ever, if you’ll—” Her voice broke and she abandoned her joke as Jamie hugged her.
“God, Dena. I can’t believe this.” His voice choked; he tried again. “Mike’ll be ecstatic. I’m kind of glad, too, by the way.” He grinned and cut the rope. As he flung it against the wall, he asked if she was hurt.
A tear slipped off her chin and she tried to smile, but her lips trembled. She pressed them together, stopping the quaking, and shook her head.
Jamie rubbed her wrists and ankles, bringing the circulation back into her flesh, gathered the pieces of rope, and escorted her outside. He then phoned McLaren.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jamie’s phone call caught McLaren as he unlocked his front door. He had given his formal statement at the police station, was informed that he may be asked to return for further questioning, then subsequently released and driven home.
The crime scene investigators evidently had finished searching his house, for McLaren counted all half-dozen of them at various places in his gardens, beside the stone wall and in the nearby field. The detective warned McLaren about the searches and added that his car would be seized and examined in the lab. McLaren knew they wouldn’t find any evidence of Dena’s abduction, but of course the police didn’t. Just doing their job, as McLaren had repeated to many people in his time. The fact that this investigating officer and Jamie were colleagues made McLaren’s interview less lengthy and less of an ordeal. The two hours had been quite enough, thank you.
He answered his phone only half hearing Jamie’s voice, his concentration on the white-suited men abandoning their outside work. The lead CS investigator talked on his mobile and motioned to the others. Why were they disrobing and driving away? Why hadn’t they sealed and confiscated his car, or left a chap here until the flatdeck tow truck arrived? Why change their minds? Jamie’s first words yanked McLaren back to the present.
“I’ve found Dena.” He paused dramatically, letting the realization sink in, probably enjoying his role as good news bearer and rescuer.
McLaren managed to cough out a few words before his throat tightened. “Where? When? How is she?”
“In a house. A few minutes ago. Exhausted, on the verge of crying, thanking me profusely, and wanting to talk to you.”
McLaren sank down on the front step, oblivious to the July heat baking the earth and the fly buzzing around his head. He switched the mobile to his other ear and leaned forward, staring at nothing, yet seeing Dena’s face before him. He swallowed, forcing himself to relax, and asked to talk to her.
When her voice cascaded over the phone, he closed his eyes, mentally thanking God for her rescue and for Jamie’s help. When he opened his eyes he realized he hadn’t heard what she had said. “Sorry, Sweets? What did you say?”
Her words came out in a rush of emotion, statements, and tears. “I-I’m fine, Michael. Really. Just tired and hungry, mainly.”
McLaren got to his feet but could hardly speak, the questions about her wellbeing and her kidnapping swamping his mind. “Jamie said you were in a house. Whose? Where? Are you sure you’re all right? You need to go to hospital to get checked over?”
“No.”
“Dena.”
“No need. The police surgeon just finished with me and said I’m fine.”
“I doubt that, but go on.”
“I gave a statement to an officer, also. He said something about typing it up.”
“Is all this happening at the house where Jamie found you? You’re still there?”
“Yes.”
“Whose house? Where is it?”
“I don’t know. Jamie can tell you.”
“Just so you’re safe. That’s what matters now, dear. Thank God for Jamie.”
“He did the whole thing: found me, arrested the…man.” She couldn’t bring herself to say her captor’s name.
McLaren made a mental note to thank Jamie. “You’re sure you’re okay? Just because the police surgeon has seen you, doesn’t preclude you going to hospital.”
“Honest, Michael, I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it later. All I want to do right now is get a hot shower, a cup of tea, and sleep for a week. I’m still a bit scared, though. I mean, Jamie got the one person, but…” Her tears cut off her words.
“But someone else might be involved in this,” McLaren finished.
“Yes.” Her answer sounded strange, as though she spoke through quivering lips.
He tried to think like a copper, sift through the unfolding story and his concern for Dena. He was about to insist that she go to hospital, that it would be the safest place for her right now if someone was still looking for her, when Jamie’s voice tore into McLaren’s ear. “I’ll take her to my house, Mike. We’ve got that guest room. She can bed down there and sleep the clock round. All week, if she wants. She’ll be warm, safe, fed, and looked after. Paula or I will be there all the time. Dena won’t be alone.”
Gratitude welled up with McLaren. “Jamie, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. To Dena. You’re sure she’s all right?”
“You can talk to her later. She really needs some sleep and some food right now. You can see her later. Come over tonight. After tea.”
“But she’s okay, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’d tell me the truth.”
“Of course! Look, Mike, I’ve got to get Dena home.”
“Where are you now, Jamie?”
“Ashbourne.” He glanced at the house façade and gave McLaren the street address.
“Why there?”
“It’s where Dena was held.”
“Whose house is it?”
“Steve Howard’s. Well, Stephen Howard. A friend of our friend Ron Pennell, it seems.”
“Ron?” The world tilted crazily as he tried to fit all the names together. “What the hell’s going on?”
A pause on the other end of the line greeted McLaren’s question.
His anger roared back at Jamie. “What’s this Howard bloke and Ron Pennell got to do with Dena’s abduction? Does he know Dena? Is he there now? Well?” he yelled at Jamie’s slow reply.
“Are you driving?”
“What the bloody hell difference does that make?”
“I don’t trust you, Mike. You’re in a dangerous mood. You might get into a collision and smash up.”
“The hell I’ll get into a collision. And I’m more liable to smash the face of the next person I see if you don’t tell me what the hell went on.” He ran toward his car, his heart
rate as high as his anger. “On second thought, no. I’m saving all my energy for Steve Howard. I’ll feel much better smashing in his face. Before I castrate him.”
“Mike…”
“Which is before I tie him up and drag him behind my car on the A515.”
“I know you’re speaking in anger and intense hatred. I know it’s aimed at a name that may or may not be involved with Dena’s abduction. And you know I’d react the same way if Paula were ever threatened like this. But you’ve got to let the law take its course, Mike. You’ll only hinder proceedings if you interfere.” Jamie exhaled slowly, as though he imagined McLaren laying his hands on Steve Howard. “I arrested Ron Pennell and officers are picking up Stephen Howard, but I don’t know how involved Ron is in all this. If he actually kidnapped Dena, if he acted alone, or if he just delivered the meals.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” McLaren started the car engine before he asked, “Why did Ron have Dena at that Howard house? Is he involved in the abduction? Are you holding him there? ’Cause, if you are and you wouldn’t mind holding him until I get there…”
“Mike—”
“What?”
“This Steve Howard…”
“You said the bastard’s associated with Ron.” He exhaled heavily and steered onto the major road. “I talked to Ron a bit ago. He didn’t say a damned thing about this Steve Howard chap.”
“I don’t know if Howard was ever with Ron during Dena’s abduction. That’s not the issue right now. Not his whereabouts during the last few days, I mean. But he’s somehow involved, if Ron kept Dena at Howard’s place.”
McLaren drove his car around a lumbering lorry and turned onto the A516. He made a hasty mental calculation. “You’re still at that house in Ashbourne, right?”
“Yeah. You on your way, then?”
“Another ten miles, I guess.” He’d passed the sign indicating the turn off for the A6 south. “I’ll be there in quarter of an hour or so.”
“Where are you? You must be close.”
“Just passing Rushup Edge.”
“Rushup Edge…” Jamie broke off.
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