“I wondered about parking in the car park at the pub which we passed a couple of hundred yards back,” she suggested.
“OK. That’s a good idea.” They got in the car, he started it and they turned, using the slipway, and headed back to the inn by the creek-side. They got out and looked round.
“Can we see the Sarah Jane from here?” she asked.
James walked to the river edge and tried to peer past the pub building. “I’m afraid not.” He pointed up. “If we could get up on that terrace we could probably see it.”
“We’d have to go through the pub to get up there.”
“So what? It’s after eleven. They’re probably serving drinks by now. Even if they aren’t, I’m sure they’d let us go out on the terrace if we explained what we wanted to see. It’s worth trying.”
He set off towards the road to find the entrance to the inn but, as he did so, Marion called, “Wait a minute. There’s Charlotte.”
In response to her furious waving Stafford Paulson pulled in to the car park and they got out. Marion and James explained what they had done so far.
“I’m sure there’s somebody in there,” said James, “but I couldn’t find a way in and I didn’t have anything with me that would break a window.”
“It’s a good job you didn’t. You must leave that sort of thing to us lot. I’ve got the gear for that.” Paulson patted him on the shoulder. “Come on then. Let’s get down there and see what’s what.”
Leaving their own car in the car park, Marion and James were given a lift down to the slipway. Paulson looked at the dinghy and the Sarah Jane and the rising tide and said, “I’ll need a hand with this.”
“I’ll come with you,” volunteered James.
“Wait a minute. I’ll check what’s happening at the Dartmouth end,” said Charlotte. She rang them and talked for a couple of minutes. When she disconnected she pulled a face. “Apparently the squad car they are sending encountered an accident on its way and has been delayed while the guys are helping at the scene. It’s likely to be another half an hour.”
“What about my little girl?” wailed Marion.
James turned back to Paulson. “I’ve told you - I can help you.”
“Are you sure about that, young man?”
“Certain. I’ve already been out there once. It won’t be a problem to do it a second time.”
Stafford came to a decision. “All right, but you must do exactly as I tell you, for your own safety.”
“OK. You’re the boss.”
They manhandled the dinghy down the slipway to the point where the rising tide was starting to lap onto the foot of the concrete ramp. This time they were able to avoid taking their shoes off and getting muddy feet as they climbed into the dinghy. They set off with Stafford wielding the oars and James seated in the stern.
Meanwhile Charlotte and Marion retreated in Paulson’s car to the pub car park where they kept watch on the roads for the other vehicles.
The inspector had a stiff pull in the little dinghy against the rapidly rising tide as they crept downriver towards the Sarah Jane. James had a hand on the plywood transom but said nothing as he watched Paulson struggling with the oars. He noticed the big cruiser was starting to straighten up as the tidewaters seeped under the hull.
As they neared the boat James said, “There’s a transom ladder which has been folded down so it’s not difficult to get on board.”
They pulled round to the stern and James grabbed the dangling rope which he had used on his previous visit. The inspector shipped the oars, stood up and tied the painter from the bow of the dinghy to the ladder. Then, breathing heavily, he climbed slowly and laboriously on to the deck. James skipped up behind him in half the time carrying the inspector’s toolkit.
He found Paulson already peering at the lock to the patio doors at the stern of the superstructure. He took the toolkit from James with a grunt, opened it and extracted a bunch of skeleton keys. He checked through them and started to try some in the lock. When he had tried about three he suddenly said “Ah-hah!” There was a click in the lock and the key turned. A few seconds later he slid back the left hand patio door and they were inside.
Paulson carefully removed the bunch of keys and returned them to his toolkit. Then the two men entered the large lounge. At the far end were three open doors. To the right a flight of steps led up, presumably to the control room. On the left a staircase descended into the bowels of the vessel. Stafford took these, followed by James.
“Which room do you think she’s in?” asked the inspector.
“I would say this first door on the left.”
Sure enough, they found the girl lying on her side on a double bed facing the door. Her ankles were strapped round with duct tape and her wrists were similarly tied and secured to the headboard. Her mouth had been taped over to stop her shouting. Large, worried eyes watched them as they entered.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Stafford as he approached the bed. “I’m a policeman and we’ve come to rescue you.”
He took a knife from his pocket and slit through the tapes round her ankles and wrists and then applied himself to carefully peeling off the tape over her mouth. “Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”
James started to remove the tapes round her ankles with as much care as he could manage while she burst into tears and hugged the inspector.
“Your mum’s waiting for you on the slipway,” said Paulson. “You’ll soon be safely back with her.”
Having finished removing the tapes from her ankles James turned his attention to her wrists and she was soon free of the horrible clinging stuff. They helped her to her feet. She had already stopped crying and was just sniffing a bit. He thought what a sensible little girl she seemed. They took her through to the outer deck and led her round to the side where she could wave at her ecstatic mum.
“Now,” said the inspector. “I want to have a careful look round the boat and take some photos. Do you know Jimmy?”
She shook her head.
“Oh. Well, I believe he’s actually your uncle so you’ll have to get to know him. In any case he’s your friend. He’s going to row you back to your mum.” To James he said, “Be very careful with her. And, as soon as you’ve handed her over, I want you to come back here to pick me up. I should have finished my inspection by then.”
“OK.”
They helped Tracey down into the dinghy, undid the painter and pushed off. The rising tide helped James to paddle upriver more quickly than Paulson had rowed down to the Sarah Jane.
Seated in the stern, the girl watched James speculatively as he rowed. She seemed to have recovered remarkably quickly from her ordeal of imprisonment.
After a while she said, “You’re not my uncle.”
“How do you know that?”
”’Cause Freddie’s my uncle. Who are you?”
James was defeated for a moment. Then he decided to duck the question. “I think you ought to ask your mum to tell you the whole story when you have her on your own.”
“All right,” she said. “I will.”
As they neared the slipway they could see Marion and Charlotte waiting for them at the water’s edge. Tracey’s mum got her feet wet as she helped the girl out of the dinghy and into her arms. Tears of relief were streaming down Marion’s face but her daughter was dry-eyed.
“Who is James?” she asked her mum.
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“He said to ask you.”
“When you have some time together on your own,” said James.
“But who is he?”
Marion said, “James is a friend, my darling. He helped me to find you.”
“The policeman said he’s my uncle but I know he’s not. Freddie’s my uncle, isn’t he?”
James noticed that Charlotte seemed to be taking an interest in Tracey’s questions so he pushed the dinghy off with one oar. “Inspector Paulson asked me to go straight back and pick him up,” he said. “I’ll be bac
k with him as soon as he’s ready.”
Charlotte decided there were definitely some questions she needed to ask Marion, but now was probably not the correct time to ask them.
“I’ll go and get the car,” she said. “I think Tracey needs to be taken for a check-up after her ordeal. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She got back to the pub car park and had just put the car in gear to pull out when another car passed along the road leading towards the Sarah Jane. Charlotte followed and noticed the other car pull on to the top end of the slipway. Out of the car climbed Gary Bostock who started to walk down the concrete ramp. Charlotte pulled across the slipway to block his exit. She hurriedly got out, pocketed the car keys and followed him.
She was in time to hear him say, “What the bloody hell’s going on?”
Marion faced him, hugging her daughter to her. “Tracey tells me you’ve kept her tied up on that boat for six days and six nights. How dare you! Why on earth did you do that?”
“Hasn’t your precious Freddie told you about that?”
Bostock advanced on them and Charlotte hurried to catch up with him.
“No,” said Marion defiantly. “What have you arranged with him?”
“I haven’t arranged anything with him. All I want is to get some cash off him. Now you’ve gone and loused it up.”
“Haven’t you had enough from him already?”
“Nowhere near enough,” he sneered. “The bugger’s swamped with cash but he doesn’t want to pay the people who do his dirty work for him.”
“What dirty work is that?” asked Charlotte.
The man whirled round to confront her. It seemed he hadn’t been aware that she was there until she spoke. He realised his mistake immediately.
“So - I might have guessed you’d be here,” he snarled.
“That’s correct,” said Charlotte. “I’m here to arrest you for illegally abducting, confining and restraining a minor and for stealing a motor vessel without permission.”
“Oh, yeah?” He shook his head as he moved towards her. “You’ve got to hold me first.”
“It would be extremely foolish of you to resist arrest,” said Charlotte. “Your car is boxed in and you cannot get away, and you’d be in even deeper trouble than you are now.”
“Yes. Don’t be silly, Gary,” Marion called out.
Nevertheless he continued to advance on the chief inspector. “You’d better hurry up and move your bloody car out of the way,” he threatened.
Charlotte was aware that her limited unarmed combat training hadn’t prepared her very well for restraining a big, strong, aggressive seaman. However she stood her ground and grasped her keys with a view to throwing them out into the muddy creek. She could see the dinghy, rowed by James, had left the Sarah Jane and was coming rapidly upriver. She hoped she could delay Bostock long enough for Stafford to come to her aid.
“Are you gonna do what I say?” roared the man, now only ten feet away.
“You ought to know, Gary, that police officers are trained to deal with great lumps like you.”
He paused. “What? A slip of a thing like you?”
“Just try me.”
The dinghy was getting near the foot of the slipway but they wouldn’t be in time to help her tackle the man if he attacked her now. Then suddenly the tension was defused by the arrival of the police car from Dartmouth. It pulled up sharply and two burly uniformed policemen got out. Realising he was outnumbered, Bostock submitted.
Charlotte read him the charge and the statutory warning and one of the policemen handcuffed his arms behind his back. By this time Paulson was coming up the ramp.
“Ahah,” he said. “Who have we got here?”
“This is Gary Bostock,” Charlotte told him, “husband to Marion and nominal father to Tracey. I have just arrested him for kidnapping Marion’s daughter. I think we need to take him back to Torquay police station for questioning. He has a lot of explaining to do.”
“OK. Now then.” Stafford Paulson turned to the policemen from Dartmouth. “In about half an hour the Harbour-master’s launch will be able to get up the creek to that motor cruiser, the Sarah Jane.” He pointed to the boat. “I want it taken in to custody for forensic examination. Ultimately I want it returned to Torquay marina.” He indicated the dinghy. “This is Sarah Jane’s tender which should be shipped into those davits on the stern of the upper deck. Can you arrange that for me while I return to Torquay with this prisoner for questioning?”
“Yes sir,” replied the sergeant.
Charlotte went down the ramp to where James had joined Marion and Tracey. “Will you be all right taking your daughter home?”
“Oh yes, Charlotte, we’re fine now we’re together again.”
“She ought to have a medical check-up some time in the next twenty four hours. Can you arrange that with your doctor or do you want me to ask the police doctor to call round?”
“She’s all right, Charlotte. She says Gary didn’t hit her. He just tied her up with that horrible tape.”
“Nevertheless don’t risk anything having happened to her while she was thrashing around trying to escape.”
“All right. I’ll ring Doctor Samuels as soon as we get back.”
“You understand, Marion, that we’re taking your husband into custody. He’s committed a number of serious offences. We’ll be questioning him later this afternoon and he’ll be kept in cells at the police station overnight at the very least - maybe for longer. He’ll appear in court, perhaps tomorrow, but more likely on Friday and I can tell you then what is likely to happen to him. If you want to talk to him, we can arrange that, but I’m afraid a police officer, probably myself, will have to be present.”
Marion shuddered. “I don’t want any more to do with him and I don’t want him anywhere near Tracey. How could he do that to a child he’s pretended was his daughter for all those years. It’s obvious now that he only stayed with us because he was being paid to by her real father.”
“I want to talk to you about that and some other things,” said Charlotte. “Will it be all right if I call round to see you on my way to the station tomorrow morning - say about eight o’clock?”
“Of course you can. Will it be all right for Tracey to go back to school tomorrow?”
“I have no objection, but you ought to take the doctor’s advice on that.”
Marion nodded.
“Very well. I’ll see you in the morning.” She nodded to Marion’s ‘brother’. “Goodbye James, thank you for your help. Will you still be at your sister’s tomorrow morning?”
He looked questioningly at her.
“Oh, yes,” added Marion quickly. “He doesn’t have to go back for several days.”
“OK, I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
She returned up the slipway to where the others were waiting.
- 36 -
Bostock was put in interview room three and the formal interview was started soon after half past two.
“All right, Gary,” Charlotte began, “there are a number of things we want to talk to you about. But, before we start can you please confirm for the recording machine that you do not wish a solicitor to be present to advise you?”
“No, I don’t want one of those.” He almost appeared to be resigned.
“Now, can we start at the beginning? You returned from overseas last Wednesday. What time did you land?”
“I got in to Heathrow about seven o’clock in the morning. It had been an overnight flight.”
“And yet you didn’t get back to the house in Torquay until eight in the evening. Why did it take you so long?”
“Oh, there was someone I wanted to see in London.”
“Who was that?” asked Paulson.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not important.”
“That’s for us to decide. Who was it?”
Bostock faced him defiantly. “I’m not telling you.”
“All right.” Charlotte laid a restraining hand on Sta
fford’s arm. “We’ll come back to that if we need to. So what time did you leave London?”
“I caught the three-thirty train.”
Arriving in Torquay at what time?”
“Just before seven.”
Paulson scowled. “So it took you over an hour to get from the station to the house.”
“There were things I wanted to check. Private things I want to keep to myself.”
“And when you got to the house you discovered Marion was out,” said Charlotte.
“That’s right. I found she was working at that whorehouse on the Brixham Road. She’d been going there for two years and never told me about it.”
“The ‘whorehouse’ as you call it is the Red Garter Night Club where Marion works behind the bar.”
“Yeah - all tarted up in a dress with half her tits showing and virtually asking to be shagged by all and sundry. I don’t know how often she’s let blokes have it away with her.”
“Did you ask her?”
“Yeah, But of course she denies it.”
“Don’t you believe her?” asked Paulson.
Bostock confronted him. “What would you think if you found your wife all done up like that?”
“It’s probable,” interrupted Charlotte before the two came to blows, “that Inspector Paulson gives his wife enough money for her not to need to go out in the evenings to earn some extra cash.” She leaned forward. “Now can we please get back to your movements last Wednesday evening? When you got to the house at about eight o’clock, who was there?”
“Oh, some neighbour - a Mrs Andrea King from up the road who was baby-sitting. I sent her off home after she’d told me what Marion was doing.”
“And your daughter Tracey?”
He sneered. “You know she isn’t my daughter by now.”
“I know you’re not her biological father,” agreed Charlotte. “But you were married to her mother. Have you never thought about formally adopting her?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t want to do that, did I? I wanted to be able to cut loose any time if it suited me.”
“But she called you ‘dad’, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, but she’s never really taken to me.”
“So where was she when you arrived at the house?”
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