by Bo Brennan
Lisa took a deep breath and smiled. “All the more reason for me to go alone.”
Terri shook her head and went to speak, wanted to warn what Gorgeous George might expect in return, but Lisa stopped her with an unflinching look of determination. “I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to get my kids back,” she said. “What I need most right now is an understanding and supportive friend.”
Terri swallowed hard and nodded. She didn’t like it, but she knew the score. “I've got a few sexy little numbers from my youth languishing at the back of the wardrobe,” she said. “I guess we'd better go see what fits.”
Co. Cork, Ireland.
Ryan Reynolds punched the air in jubilation as his latest story finally winged its way across the internet to London. He wished he could be a fly on the wall in Lord Professor Barrington's house when that baby hit the stands tomorrow. The news crews would be all over it. Hopefully he'd be able to get a good enough internet signal to watch the reaction as it unfolded online. There might even be something on the TV if the good Lord was inclined to make a statement.
He peered over his shoulder in the direction of the strange noise on the other side of the door, logged out of his email, and shut down the computer. Tentatively opening the door a crack, he frowned and glanced down to the source of the racket. A giggling toddler, wearing dungarees and smashing the shit out of the wall with a red plastic spade, stopped and stared up at him with big blue innocent eyes.
“Hello, little man,” Ryan said. “Where did you come from?”
Giggling and spade bashing resumed as Ryan scooped him onto his shoulders and went in search of the others. He found them in the kitchen and stopped short in the doorway, silently observing. Flick was standing at the farmhouse table, happily supervising a conveyor belt of little people buttering bread with plastic knives. “You've got an escapee,” he said handing the little boy over to her.
She raised her brows. “There's always one,” she said bouncing the child on her hip. “Did you get your article finished?”
Ryan nodded. “It took a while to email but it got there in the end.”
“It's a lovely day,” she murmured glancing out the window. “The internet signal is better in nice weather. Mobile phones never work unless you go further up the mountain.”
Ryan felt her discomfort at him being here. It was an awkward situation. One he hadn't expected to encounter either. “Where is everyone?” he said.
“Outside loading the van.”
“We're going to the beach,” the little boy said bashing him with the spade. “Are you coming too?”
Ryan looked to Flick. She looked away. He was already intruding. He didn't want to ruin her day at the beach as well. He ruffled the little boy’s hair and smiled. “I can't,” he said. “I haven't got any beach clothes. But I'll help you finish the sandwiches if you like.” He glanced up at Flick, and added quietly, “If that's okay with you, of course?”
She gave a tepid smile in return. “Declan sorted out some clothes while you were working,” she said. “You'll find something appropriate for the beach in the pile on your bed.”
“I'm running away from a house full of memories and no human beings this weekend. What are you running away from?”
Colt laughed out loud. “My running days are long gone.”
“You know what I mean.” Maggie glanced up from the lap top on her knees. “You've got someone at home. You should be living for the weekend, not making last minute plans to flee the country for something you could've called the local Garda to check out.”
“You know I like to check things out myself,” he said. “Besides, she's going through some stuff right now.”
Maggie raised her brows. “A residential course on manners by any chance?”
Colt tutted. “Personal stuff,” he said tersely.
Maggie huffed and shook her head.
“Sometimes people need time and space, Mags.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, returning her eyes to the screen. “I gave my husband that. Look where it got me.”
“I could think of worse places to be.” Colt grinned and swept a hand through the air, accentuating the view. “A glorious weekend spent in Ireland, with me. What more could you possibly want?”
“Oh, I don't know,” Maggie snapped. “How about being the one playing happy families with my husband and kids instead of that tart?”
Colt winced as she angrily bashed the laptop keys. “What are you doing anyway?” he asked.
“Checking our images database,” she mumbled. “While the woman getting time and space is up to god knows what, I'm doing her job again.”
Colt frowned hard and jerked his head in her direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maggie's cheeks reddened as she rubbed at her brow. “Sorry. That came out all wrong.”
Colt stared at her, silently waiting for more.
Maggie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “The foster mother who brought her kid in set my antenna twitching. There was something about her that didn't sit right and it’s been driving me nuts ever since.”
Colt raised his brows. Years of working with sexual deviants had honed their senses. When the paedo alert twitched, it twitched for a damned good reason. “What image are you after?”
“She had a sweatshirt on with an owl logo on the breast. I ran a full background check on her, nothing pinged, but I'm sure I've seen that logo before. The bloody signal here’s a nightmare.”
Colt gave a half smile. Relieved she was ranting about work and not his personal life. They had a close relationship, but it didn’t extend to that sort of shit. He took a left turn onto a pot holed mountain track where the Satnav indicated - just before it died - and reached over to squeeze her knee. “Save it till Monday. If it's there, I know you'll find it.”
Maggie smiled back at him and closed the lap top lid. “You’re right,” she said. “What more could a woman possibly want?”
Park Gate, Hampshire.
India stepped back from the wall and peered out the window just in time to see Gray approaching the wooden steps to her houseboat. Shit, this was all she needed. Things were just starting to come together, starting to make sense. She ran across the lounge, pulled the keys from the lock, and darted outside, slamming the door closed behind her.
“What do you want?” she said meeting him on the deck, squinting against the brightness of the day.
Gray frowned. “Nice to see you too.”
“I'm busy. I haven't got time for visitors.”
He eyeballed her and raised his brows. “Just as well I'm not here for you then. Colt sent me. He's not coming home tonight.”
India rolled her eyes. “When will you lot get the message - I don't need a fucking baby sitter,” she spat.
Gray laughed out loud and shook his head. “No, but he needs a house sitter. You got the key to his place?”
India fumbled with her key ring, embarrassed by her self-absorbed outburst. “Where is he anyway?” she said pressing the loose key into his palm.
“Gone to Ireland with someone called Maggie.”
She stared after him as he sauntered across to Colt's place without so much as a backwards glance, and felt a tightness forming in her chest. Slipping back inside, she locked and bolted the door as the tightness in her chest intensified and spread to her stomach. Leaning back against it, breathing heavily, she wasn't sure what was causing her the most anxiety - the fact Colt and her brother were suddenly best buddies, or the fact Colt was in Ireland with a woman who imagined his soft touch.
Chapter 33
Co. Cork, Ireland.
“Jesus Christ, I thought my place was remote.” Colt shielded his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun as he took in the panoramic view outside the farmhouse. There wasn't another dwelling for miles.
“Boss,” Maggie said and nodded in the direction of an old stone barn.
Colt followed her gaze as a twenty something man, wearing shorts, t-shirt, and wellin
gton boots, emerged carrying a shovel. “Are ye lost?” he said on approach.
Colt smiled. “Only if this isn't the Maloney residence.”
“I'm Declan Maloney,” he said extending a calloused hand. “What can I do for ye?” Colt showed him his warrant card as they shook. His hand shake stayed steady. So did his voice. “You're a long way from home. What brings the Met to Cool Mountain?”
Colt smiled and kept a firm grip on his hand. “The Crowley Trust.”
Declan Maloney raised a brow and Colt felt the faintest flinch in his grip before he pulled away. Tilting his head towards the woman studying them from the farmhouse doorway, he said, “You'd best come inside and speak to Niamh.”
Colt and Maggie sat at the giant old oak kitchen table, taking in their surroundings, while Niamh Maloney went all out on Irish rural hospitality.
Maggie's eyes settled on the wall of brightly coloured children's drawings. Colt was more interested in the photograph on the dresser. In its elaborate frame, and surrounded by candles, it was totally out of kilter with the rest of the room. From a distance, the woman in it looked familiar.
“How many children do you have?” Maggie asked.
Niamh smiled as she placed the plate of homemade fruitcake on the table. “They're not ours,” she said. “Nieces and nephews.”
Maggie raised her brows and wiped crumbs from her mouth. “Plenty of them.”
“We have a big family,” Niamh said taking a seat next to Declan. “Why do you want to know about my mother's Trust?”
“Is that your mother?” Colt said pointing at the photograph. Niamh nodded. “May I?” he said rising from his seat to get a better look.
“Of course,” she glanced at Declan for guidance.
Colt stared at the picture and recognised her instantly. “Your mother was a good woman,” he said tilting it to show Mags. “Judge Crowley was well respected inside and outside the High Court.”
“Thank you,” Niamh said reaching for Declan's hand. “You've come a long way to pay your belated respects, Detective Chief Inspector.”
“I did that at her funeral,” Colt said. He was lying. He'd paid his respects from his desk. Mags had attended on his behalf, but he still remembered the day well. Almost every child protection professional in the country was there. His department was dry for a good couple of hours. “I've come a long way to find out why a van registered to your mother's Trust has been implicated in the abduction of several young London women.”
Niamh's grip on her husband's hand tightened. Declan took a long steady breath before answering. “A van you say? Have you checked with the other beneficiaries?”
“There aren’t any,” Colt said studying them intently. “You two are the sole beneficiaries of the Crowley Trust and all its assets.”
Declan glanced at Niamh, and then back to Colt. “That's news to us. Good news. But we don't own a van. We don't even know the value of the Trust or who the Trustees are.”
“It's three point eight million,” Colt said sipping his tea. “If you don't know the trustees, how do you get the money?”
Niamh cleared her throat and glanced at the clock. “If we need anything we phone a solicitor in London and he deals with it.”
“Are we keeping you from something?” Colt said.
“I need to go into town and pick up some supplies,” Niamh said collecting up the plates.
“That's quite a trip,” Colt said. “I didn't see any vehicle out front.”
The plates clattered against the butler sink. Declan smiled and shook his head as though the nervy crashing of crockery was an everyday occurrence. “We keep the car in the barn,” he said. “We're a bit open to the elements up here.”
Colt stood up and placed his and Maggie's cups on the kitchen worktop next to Niamh. “Thanks for your hospitality,” he said. “We'll take a quick look in the barn on our way out, and you can go about your business.”
Niamh swallowed hard and gave a half smile. She glanced at the clock before glancing back at her husband and ushering them out to the barn.
Colt waited as the barn door was rolled slowly back, and frowned at the contents. He was expecting to see the van not a sleek silver Mercedes with English plates. “Bit impractical for out here isn't it?” he said giving it the once over.
“It is that,” Declan said. “It came from the Trust. We're still deciding whether to sell it or register it here.”
Colt smiled. It was pristine. “If I were you I'd sell it before the roads here wreck it.”
“Talking of which we should get going,” Maggie said. “I don't fancy the mountain road in darkness, and we haven’t checked in at our hotel yet.”
“Are you staying in Ireland long?” Declan enquired.
Colt stared at him as he rolled the barn door closed again. Niamh Maloney had no intention of going anywhere. She just wanted them gone. “Long enough to find what we need,” he said.
Colt gave Mr and Mrs Maloney a wave and a smile as he turned the hire car around in their drive. Under his breath he said, “Did you get the registration number?”
“Uh huh,” Maggie said scribbling on her pad.
“Good. I'm not wearing them at all.”
“Me neither,” Maggie said with a cheery wave. “They weren’t at Anne Crowley's funeral that’s for sure.”
Park Gate, Hampshire.
India stared at George Sarum's name. She knew Terri blamed herself as much as she blamed India for all this. The difference was - India didn't do anything. She didn't kick the wanker in the balls. Maybe she should've done. If she'd pressed Terri harder for his name in the first place, and lifted him for assault, this entire mess might not have happened.
But it did happen. And she still hadn't clapped eyes on him. Maybe it was time to pay George a personal visit.
She sighed and tapped the marker pen against her thigh. None of the what-ifs and buts could explain how he knew Sasha was home alone in the first place. The only person Terri told was India; she'd been pretty explicit about that. And India certainly hadn't told anyone. Not even her boss. She was simply making off the cuff enquiries as a favour.
Off the cuff enquiries.
Her eyes narrowed and moved to Dr Johnson. He was her off the cuff enquiry. He had been her only enquiry before Sasha was snatched. He was also who Lisa Lewis claimed took her son in the first place, and had her conveniently sectioned. She used her marker pen to draw a line linking their two names, and then sat down on the floor shuffling through paperwork until she found what she was after.
The Royal South Hants staff rosters and personnel records were indisputable. Plenty of people were working in the children's departments, and A&E, the Monday night Lisa Lewis claimed she took her son in - but Dr Dale Johnson was not one of them. The man had never worked on a Monday; it was his regular day off.
India closed her eyes and visualised the moment she dropped that little nugget on Lisa Lewis. Her face had filled with dumb founded confusion. Rendered her incapable of speech. The woman was not usually short of words and, loony bin or not, she'd never appeared confused. Not once. Not ever. Not when drugged up to the eyeballs, nor during her latest phase of denying and scheming. The eyes had it. Her eyes were always clear. And regardless of her facial expression, that moment was no exception.
Surely the face of the man who abducted your child was the face no mother could ever forget.
Every fibre in India's body screamed out for the truth, and regardless of what anybody said, or who stood in her way, she was going to find it. She sprang to her feet, encircled his name with red pen and stared at it. She had no idea where the bastard spent his Mondays, but she knew where he'd be tonight.
Winchester, Hampshire.
Lisa Lewis stood outside the front door, pulled her skirt up and her top down. From what Terri had said the man wasn't a fan of classy, more nasty. Thigh and cleavage would get her in the door. God only knew what it would take to get her kids back.
She took a deep breath and exhale
d forcefully, puffing out her cheeks. As prepared as she’d ever be, she rang the bell and waited.
She didn't wait long.
George Sarum opened the door with a glass in his hand and a glint in his eye. He didn't look like the monster she'd expected, just an average Joe in a checked shirt and jeans. His eyes roamed her body, from her face to her heels and back up her body again, resting on her boosted cleavage. She'd got his attention. “Hi,” she smiled. “Are you George?”
“Sure am,” he said to her cleavage. “Are you Christmas come early?”
Lisa took a deep breath, swelling her cleavage further, and then laughed. His eyeballs almost popped from their sockets. “Terri said you were good fun,” she lied.
“Who?”
Lisa laughed again, leaning towards him and pressing her arms together to maximise the giggle jiggle. Make sure he got the message. “She can't make tonight, so she sent me instead. You have something I need, Gorgeous George. Aren't you going to invite me in?”
George stepped back from the door and swept a hand before her in invitation. Lisa could feel his eyes on her behind as she sashayed past him and into his lounge. She blew out a slow steady breath as she heard him lock the front door behind her.
She wandered wide eyed around his swanky home, struck by all the high ticket items - from the 50 inch plasma mounted on the wall, to the plush leather sofas and giant wool rug underfoot - and the sad lack of personalisation. Not a single photo rested anywhere.
“So, what is it you need from me?” he said brushing up behind her and breathing vodka fumes on her neck.
Lisa cringed and turned. “I want to know where my kids are,” she said running a finger across his chest.
George frowned. “You what?”
“You took my daughter from Terri's class.”
George laughed. “They let you out of the loony bin then.”