A Fitting Revenge

by CA Sole

  Carter grunted and said someone would call me back with the details. In five minutes they did, and at eight, when Parsons was likely dipping soldiers into his boiled egg before catching the train, I phoned him. He agreed to meet me as soon as I could reach the City. Although he didn’t yet know what I wanted, he sounded pleased to help. With no Tina to feed or use as a sounding board for my troubles, I left straight away.

  I loathe the Underground. I always feel like one of five hundred sheep crammed together on a truck on their way to the abattoir, but it is the quickest way to get around London. I bought Alan Parsons a coffee and a croissant in a café near St Paul’s Cathedral. I explained the situation in simple terms, telling him only as much as he needed to know, but he was cagey. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I can understand that this appears to you like a bare faced con, but please phone Chief Inspector Carter, I believe you have his card, and he’ll confirm that my need is genuine and very urgent. And, because of the urgency, please tell me right now if you won’t help.’

  He was a tall, heavy, well dressed man with thick, black framed glasses. He looked pleasant and honest but was obviously wary of me. ‘It’s not that I won’t help,’ he replied, ‘There’s nothing I would like to see more than that bitch given her just rewards. And I would do anything to help, as long as I’m able to be there in court and she can see me laughing as she’s taken down! Trouble is that she left me with so little that I really cannot help. When I came out of that divorce with nothing, I borrowed what I could to set myself up again. Friends helped and I’m eternally grateful to them. It’s funny actually. That time, which was most traumatic for me, has made me into a better person. Previously I would have told you to sort your own problems out, but now I can understand and empathise with your situation. I would really like to help you, but the trouble is that I’m still paying off my debts. Look, I earn good money, and I’ll be fine in a year, back on top, but now ... I have to honour my commitments first. Do you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly, Alan, and I respect that. It’s how I would handle it. Thanks for your time anyway, and when we get to court, I’ll be sure to let you know.’

  ‘If there’s anything else I can do, information, material assistance, anything except money, please ask.’

  ‘Actually, there is. Can you provide me with a private telephone for a lengthy international call? I have someone else that might well help, but he won’t be available until about twelve, our time. I’ll happily pay for the call, but I can’t use my mobile, it’s compromised.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Of course, no problem there. Walk with me to my office so you know where to go, and then come back before twelve. There’ll be no need to pay, we use our lines on overseas calls all the time. Besides, I’m the boss,’ he laughed.

  In spite of his support, I felt flattened. I still had not sourced the ransom, and it was half way through day two. If the next call didn’t produce results, then I’d be forced to go back to the bank.

  The phone rang and went on ringing while I fidgeted anxiously, willing him to pick it up. I was in an empty office with nothing around to distract me, not even a window. Eventually a breathless voice said, ‘Hola?’

  ‘Felipe, it’s me, Alastair.’

  ‘Alastair! Mi amigo, my friend, how you?’ The delight in his voice was so typical. It lifted my spirits immediately.

  ‘Felipe, have you time to talk? I have a very serious problem and I need help.’

  ‘Sure, no problem, talk.’

  ‘Felipe, first please understand that this has nothing to do with what you told me. There is no connection, and whether you help me or not, will not change what I promised. You owe me nothing.’ I went on to explain what had happened, giving more detail than necessary, but that didn’t matter. There would be no repercussions from Chile. I decided to ask for anything he could find up to the full amount.

  ‘Alastair, that is a lot of money. That is one and a half billion pesos!’

  ‘I know, but I’m desperate.’

  ‘My God! Okay, listen, you lucky, my uncle is staying in my house, we having a party tomorrow for my sister. Is her birthday. I ask him to talk to you, I get him now. Please wait.’ There was silence, then I heard voices in the background, getting closer.

  Mario Montano greeted me warmly. I explained my problem over again while he listened in silence. Eventually he said, ‘Alastair, this is terrible. My deepest sympathy. I feel for you and your fiancée. Of course I will help. You have done so much for my company, and what are friends for? You can give your bank details to Felipe in a moment. When I have them I will instruct my bank in Singapore to transfer the funds to you, but it may take a day or two. Do not worry.’

  ‘Mario, I don’t have adequate words to express my thanks.’ Relief virtually drowned me, I was almost tearful with emotion. Giles would have lent me that sort of money without a question. Juliet didn’t have anything like a sum of that nature of course, but if she did, I knew she would lend it to me, even now in her present mood. Mario on the other hand, this man who really did not know me that well, not as Giles or Juliet did, was putting his trust in me because he believed I was a good person that needed help. I was touched, to put it mildly. ‘You will get the money back,’ I said.

  ‘I trust you, Alastair.’

  I misunderstood him. ‘You will get your money back,’ I repeated, ‘I promise. If we recover the ransom, it’ll be quick, but if the money is lost, then I’ll sell my house and farm to repay you. In the meantime I’ll raise the balance, but all that will take a little while. What you are giving me now is time, time to secure Juliet’s release.’

  ‘It is not the money, Alastair. Money is only money, it comes and it goes. Sure, the amount you ask for is very big, but still it is only money. What I value most is trust, and if trust is broken then a man’s faith is destroyed. It is a great blow to the emotions, and then next time you want to trust another person it will be a little less, which is a great sadness for humankind.’

  ‘You can trust me, Mario, I promise. Whatever happens, I will repay you.’

  ‘Enough, my young friend. When are you coming back here?’

  ‘Just as soon as this is all over. I’m sorry it has got in the way of our programme, but you understand. I hope to bring Juliet with me, so she can thank you.’

  ‘I like that, I like it when pretty girls come to see me,’ he laughed and handed the phone back to Felipe.

  ‘Gracias Felipe, muchas gracias,’ I said before putting down the handset.

  On Thursday morning I checked my balance, but the money had not yet reached my account. With nothing sensible to do, I drove to Oxford to look at Giles. To my surprise they let me into his room, although a staff nurse came with me and stood back watching. Carter must have cleared it, which gave me a measure of confidence that at least the police were no longer seeing me as a risk to Giles’ life. He lay there, his head swathed in bandages with monitor leads from his chest to the screen behind him. He was breathing through a ventilator as a precaution, the nurse informed me, although he could probably do so without its assistance. His helplessness was quite depressing, and I felt a resurge of anger at Sandra and Wiggins.

  The nurse was a middle aged, mousy haired woman in whose weary eyes all the trauma and sickness she had witnessed was reflected. Although she must have been toughened by the experience of trying so hard for all those she could not save in her years of caring, her compassion for those currently under her wing was not diminished. ‘It could be weeks before we see any improvement,’ she said.

  I nodded, ‘Thank you for doing what you’ve done and what I know you’ll carry on doing.’ She gave me a tired smile as she ushered me out of the door.

  The next morning I was on tenterhooks as to whether the money would arrive. It was not visible with an on-line check of my account, but maybe it was in the pipe somewhere. There was just twenty four hours before I should receive instructions as to where to leave the ransom, and if I didn’t have it ... what then? I phone
d Smythe, the manager, to try and secure his cooperation. With that sum coming into my account, he should be a touch more cooperative than before.

  Which he was, confirming that a transaction was imminent. I told him that I had to withdraw the sum in cash in used notes before close of business. He promised that he would personally see that the money was issued to me and would hold the bank open late in order to facilitate the withdrawal. Smythe was as good as his word, and I had the plain wrapped parcel of cash in my grasp by six o’clock that evening. I put it in a blue holdall I had taken with me and left the bank with a huge sense of relief. With the ease with which that had gone, it was obvious that Carter must have had a word with him, and therefore the delay might have been due to the notes being marked for future tracing.

  My phone rang when I reached home. A heavily disguised voice asked if I had the money. ‘Yes,’ I grudgingly replied, ‘but I want to know that she’s alive before I hand it over.’

  There was a short silence, then the same croaking voice snapped, ‘Say his name, quick.’

  ‘Alastair!’ Juliet cried out, and was immediately cut off. Alive! She was alive, there was still hope. Her voice had been forceful, not weakened by captivity or abuse, but defiant and challenging, she was spirited and fighting. Good old Jules!

  ‘Your instructions tomorrow,’ the voice growled, and the call was cut.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I was up at five on Saturday morning. The summer was receding, and it was still dark. A thin cover of cloud spread across the sky but ended just above the eastern horizon. There, a narrow bright strip heralded the sun’s advance and left a fluffy red underside to the blanket.

  I was up because I hadn’t slept for hours, and it was a good time for coffee. My stomach felt empty yet heavy, weighing me down, and I had had a surfeit of that feeling recently. Today was the day I would get Juliet back; as long as nothing went wrong.

  John Knott worked every day except Sunday, and even then he came in occasionally. Earlier than usual, I saw him drive past the house on the way to his workshop. Around nine thirty he knocked urgently on the back door. I was just opening it for him when Wiggins rang; well I assumed it was him, the voice was too muffled.

  ‘Go to your pillbox at a quarter to. Not earlier, not later. Take the money with you.’

  I turned back into the house away from John, hoping he wouldn’t hear, but he followed me in. He was agitated. ‘I’m not handing over any money unless I know she’s alive,’ I snapped.

  ‘You don’t have a choice.’

  ‘I most certainly do. If you want the money, prove to me that she’s alive before I leave this house or you’ll never get it.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me!’ he shouted.

  God it hurt to bargain over Juliet’s life! ‘Proof or there’ll be no money,’ I said as calmly as I could.

  ‘Fucker! Get started, I’ll ring you again.’ He hung up.

  I turned back to John. He had heard enough, too much unfortunately, and his eyes were wide with amazement and concern.

  I was about to say something when Carter called me on the other phone. ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘We’ve located his phone to be in the same area as yours. It’s as close as we can get from the mobile mast signals.’

  John was trying to talk to me urgently and shifting from one leg to the other with his hand held up to interrupt. ‘Hang on a moment Inspector, please. Yes, John? Good morning.’

  ‘I just seen that bloke again.’ I quickly held the phone away from my ear so that Carter could hear what was said. John leaned towards it and went on, ‘I was having a smoke break outside when I looked up and saw him round the side of Harry’s barn. I think he went off into the field.’

  ‘Did you hear that, Inspector?’

  ‘Yes thanks. Now listen to me carefully. Don’t, ... don’t try to be clever. Do exactly as he says, remember Miss Meredith’s life is at stake.’

  ‘I’m not likely to forget that.’

  ‘The chances are that the pillbox is not the final drop point. You’ll probably get further instructions there. When you know what they are, call me if they weren’t given by phone. I’ll try to get some men to cover the drop point if possible in the time. And don’t panic if Miss Meredith is not anywhere near. She’ll be left somewhere or you’ll be directed where to find her, but it’s most unlikely to be where you’ll be this morning.’

  ‘Understood,’ I replied. He hung up and I turned back to Knott, ‘John, I have to go. Thanks and please keep this to yourself, there’s a life at stake. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘No worries, Alastair.’ He lingered for a moment and there was genuine concern in his eyes, ‘I hope it’ll be all right.’ Then he turned away towards his workshop, ignoring the light rain that had begun to fall.

  It was nine thirty nine; six minutes to get to the pillbox, and the vehicle track was a lot longer than the footpath. I grabbed the Defender’s keys and the blue bag with all the cash and ran out of the door. At more than twice the speed I usually drove on that surface, the rough track threw the vehicle about. We were airborne once, landing with a hell of a crash just before I reached the end. There was a short uphill run to be made to the pillbox from where the track ran out. It left me panting heavily. It was raining harder now, and I had to wipe the drops off my eyebrows to see properly.

  The door was shut. A new brass padlock glistened in the rain below a note stuck to the wood with Sticky Stuff; uncomplicated and typewritten.

  7 mins hut in wood

  Knocking on the door, I listened carefully for some sign of life inside. There was nothing but the twittering of birds behind me. It was probably nerves, but I had the distinct feeling I was being watched. Carefully, I removed the note and the plastic putty, thinking there might be something on them that the forensic people might use. This bastard was going to keep me running hard between sites before getting to the drop point; I could feel it. In the driving seat, I remembered to call Carter, but before I did my original phone rang.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Get over to the hut, now!’

  ‘Do you mean the ruined hut in the woods opposite?’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, you know where to go.’

  ‘I want proof, I told you.’

  He rang off. Had he called my bluff? I was dithering, should I go or insist on proof? Then the phone rang again. No one said anything at first. There was a pause, some muttering and scratching, then, ‘Alastair?’

  ‘Jules! Are you all right? We’ll have you out of it soon.’

  There was no reply, and the connection was cut. There was no need to phone Carter, he would have heard the next point was the hut.

  The drive back to the house was the same as going out, fast and violent. Skidding to a stop at the yard gate, I yanked on the handbrake, took the keys, grabbed the blue bag and ran. I was inside the wood in five minutes from leaving the pillbox. I slowed to catch my breath, there was time in hand. Although I was now soaked, the rain was only just penetrating the tree canopy at that stage and the ground underneath was merely damp.

  The green corrugated iron of the hut was visible through the trees. At the pillbox there was no cover, only open field all around, no one could have crept up on me without being obvious, but here in the wood it was dark and there was plenty of undergrowth. I was ever conscious of being stalked. Where was Wiggins? The likelihood of being attacked and relieved of the money before I could drop it was haunting me. That would be typical of him, attack savagely from behind, hopefully kill, and then make off with the cash. The thought made me hyper alert. Scanning left, right and behind, I approached the hut. The door was still hanging on one hinge, but it wasn’t as far open as the last time I’d been there. Every now and then a gust of wind shook the canopy, and the trees shed their burden of rain which plonked as heavy drops onto the iron roof. There was no note on the door, nothing white and clean against the grey, rotting wooden planks. He was forcing me to go inside, to be silhouetted in the doorway.

&nbs
p; Instead of going straight to the entrance, I circled the hut and tried to see through the filth on the window from a distance; I wasn’t going to get too close and give him the tempting target of my face against the pane. It was useless, I couldn’t see a thing. Keeping the door between me and whatever was inside, I gently pulled it open, aware that the last remaining hinge could fail at any time and allow the thing to crash to the ground. I peered around the door and into the dark interior, ready to leap back. A second note was stuck to the far wall. It was too dark to read it from the doorway. I was to be lured in, eyes focused on the note ahead of me, while Wiggins waited, hidden in a dark corner.

  I stood in the doorway for a short while, letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. Then, with a quick glance left and right into the near corners, I stepped forward to the note. More Sticky Stuff. It was barely holding to the mouldy surface and came away with the paper. Back outside, the rain dampened the note as I read it.

  West 50 yds fallen tree put in stump hole go back to house

  The wood ran almost due north away from the farm so, having come out of the door, I was facing back towards my house and west meant going to my right. From the hut, there was no indication where the trees ended, but the wood was not wide, so fifty yards would be very close to its edge.

  Still moving slowly and carefully, I went west until the edge of the wood was immediately in front of me. There was no fallen tree. Moving first north and then south along the tree line, I eventually found it. It was a chestnut, blown down in the storms of the previous year. Ripped from the ground by a massive gust of wind, the trunk lay like a giant axle with its ragged wheel of earth covered roots standing almost vertically above the four foot deep crater it left behind. Another glance around and I dropped the bag into the hole. Was Wiggins watching? Were Carter’s men watching and waiting? Skirting the wood to avoid being pounced on, I kept to the field and trotted back to the farm.