Something clicked in her head.
'Ah, yes,' she said, her face softening a little. 'That's where my husband works. Do you...did you work there as well?'
'Not exactly,' said Sam. 'I was Carl's driver.'
She looked at him, puzzled.
'So, where do you know me from? You might know my husband, Dave Starkey. He was the foreman there. But I can't see how-'
'That's where I know your face from!' exclaimed Sam, thinking fast. 'I know Dave. I used to pop into the factory every now and then. He must have shown me a photo of you. Well, it is a small world, isn't it?'
Mrs Starkey gave him a sceptical look.
'Well, Bursleigh is a small town,' she admitted. 'Look, Dave's in one of the shops just up the street if you want to say hello to him.'
The last person Sam wanted to talk to was Dave Starkey.
'Sam?'
He turned round. Mrs Starkey did the same. Lucy was standing before them, waiting for an introduction.
'Right, got to go,' he announced. 'Can't keep the lady waiting.'
Mrs Starkey and Lucy both gave him bemused looks.
'Nice to meet you, Mrs Starkey,' he said hurriedly, already moving off and taking Lucy with him.
***
'What was all that about?'
Sam had marched Lucy away from Mrs Starkey and back to the car without saying a word. Now they had reached the Clio, she wanted an answer.
'That was Dave Starkey's wife,' he told her.
'Who's Dave Starkey?' she asked.
'Remember me telling you about the photo? The one I found at the factory on the night of the fire?'
Realisation dawned on Lucy's face.
'That was her?'
'The very same.'
Lucy's eyes widened.
'You don't think-'
'That he was the one running from the fire?' said Sam, reading her thoughts. 'Nah, he worked there, didn't he? He probably just dropped it out of his wallet one day.'
'Yeah, but-'
'I know what you're thinking, Lucy, but why would he want to burn the factory down and hurt Carl?' said Sam, just glad to have finally put a name to the face in the photo. 'He's lost his job now the factory's not there anymore.'
Lucy thought about it for a moment.
'I suppose you're right,' she said, unlocking the doors to the Clio. 'I'm letting my imagination get away from me.'
Sam smiled at her across the roof of the car.
'That's what it does to you, this detective work.'
Chapter 52
Lucy looked disappointed.
'Why do you have to go?' she asked.
'I won't be long. I just want to make sure no-one's burnt my home down.'
Sam wasn't entirely joking. Too much had happened recently to take anything for granted. He wanted to take a quick check on the cottage.
'I'll take your car if it makes you feel any better,' he said.
She stuck her tongue out at him. They both laughed.
'Yeah, I'd feel happier if you did,' she said, moving towards him. 'I'll be even happier when you get back here safely. Here, have these in case I get bored and pop to the shop.'
She dropped a spare set of flat keys into his palm while gazing tenderly into his eyes. All of a sudden, she leaned into him and kissed him lightly on the lips. Sam was pleasantly surprised.
'I'll be back here before you know it.'
***
Sam stalled the car at a junction, laughing at his inability to adjust to the unfamiliar controls of the Clio. As he fiddled with the gearstick, a car whizzed past in front of him.
A black BMW.
Sam had only caught a glimpse of the two men inside the car, but it was enough. It was the two heavies he had encountered outside Carl's house. More wannabe hard men with attitude problems. They hadn't looked in his direction as they flashed by, so he put the Clio into gear, let the clutch out and set off after them. He accelerated through the gears quickly, pushing his speed until he had the beamer in sight. Then he kept his distance. This was more to Sam's liking, watching the bad guys rather than being chased by them.
He realised they would be passing the Renshaw's empty house soon. He wondered once more how Molly and the girls were doing. Where had they gone? He presumed they were staying with family or friends. People who could offer them some comfort.
Sam expected the BMW to carry on past the entrance to Carl's drive, but to his puzzlement, the car slowed down and turned into it. What were they doing? There was nobody living in the property. Sam's curiosity got the better of him and he slowed down too, debating whether to follow in the Clio or get out and sneak down on foot. He decided on the latter.
Walking down the drive, Sam heard the sound of car doors being slammed shut. The men were out of their vehicle and outside the house. Sam quickened his pace. Just before the house came into view, he left the gravel and dived behind the mass of bushes running off to one side. He could hear the two men talking. Sam crept closer, using the dense bushes as cover, until he was only yards away from the men.
'There's still nobody here.'
'Well, what does Bellamy expect? They're not going to move out and put the house up for sale, then move back in, are they?'
A light breeze had picked up, carrying the men's words over to Sam's hiding place. He caught the name Bellamy clearly. Sam presumed they were referring to the Bellamy who had hassled Carl over the phone.
'This is a waste of time. Why's he sent us back out here?'
'Because he's desperate, that's why. Renshaw's dead, and the only way of getting back what he owes is through his wife.'
'Well, he's not going to find her here, is he?'
This was all very revealing to Sam. So, Carl had been in debt to Bellamy for some reason. Was it money he owed? There was only one way Sam was going to find out. He discreetly backtracked to the Clio, jumped in and drove down to the Renshaw's former home. As he reached the house, the men were climbing back into their car with resigned looks on their faces.
Sam feigned surprise as he pulled up next to them. They watched him with interest, a flicker of hope appearing on their faces when they recognised him. It was clear to Sam they were desperate for a break. Anything that might give them a lead to Molly's whereabouts. That suited him. They would be more likely to talk this time.
Not that they gave Sam that impression straight away.
'What do you want?' asked one of them gruffly.
Sam ignored the bluntness. He knew they still had appearances to keep up.
'Well, we meet again,' he said, getting out of the Capri. 'Still no-one at home, then?'
They cocked their heads at him, trying to work him out. Was he being funny? Knowing he had to work fast, Sam trotted up the front steps of the house, went to the nearest window and peered in through the glass pane. Suddenly, he banged his fist down hard on the window frame.
'She's pulled a fast one on me!' he announced angrily, turning to the two men. 'I take it you two haven't got any idea where she's gone?'
'Pull the other one, mate.'
Sam edged back down the steps.
'Look,' he said, 'the only reason I'm standing here staring at an empty house is because Carl Renshaw owes me money. I'm sorry he's dead, but his missus told me she would pay up the wages he owed me...and now she's disappeared!'
They continued to stare at him, unable to work out if he was genuine.
'She owes you money?' one of them asked eventually.
Sam sighed. These two were definitely employed for their brawn rather than any brains.
'Yeah, three weeks pay,' he told them, sitting down grumpily on the bottom step. He pretended to have a sudden thought. 'Don't tell me you're owed money, as well?' he asked hopefully. 'Is that why you were here the other day?'
He watched them glance warily at each other. They weren't totally convinced they could trust him just yet.
'It is, isn't it?' said Sam, allowing more optimism into his voice. He jumped back up to his
feet. 'You're here for the same reason as me, aren't you? Just trying to get back what's rightfully yours.'
Both men looked down at their feet. Sam could see their tough-guy masks slipping. They were relenting in their desperation. They didn't want to return to their boss empty-handed.
'Renshaw owes us...our boss...a lot of money,' one of them finally conceded. 'He took out a loan with us and hasn't paid a penny of it back. Now, there was a lot of expensive stuff in that house. If we could just track down his wife...'
Sam had been right. Money. But why would someone as wealthy as Carl need a hefty loan from sharks like these?
'So, I'm not the only one being turned over by the look of it,' he concluded glumly. 'Not that it's much consolation. I've still gotta put food on the table.'
His two new friends murmured in agreement. They looked at him expectantly, hoping he could come up with a suggestion. Sam felt like laughing. How the tables had turned.
'I tell you what,' he said with renewed vigour. 'Why don't we swap numbers? I'm not giving up yet. If I find out where Mrs Renshaw is, I'll let you know. And you can do the same for me.'
The two men looked at each other and nodded. They had nothing to lose. At least they could tell their boss they had made some sort of progress.
'Okay, mate. Give us your number.'
Chapter 53
Sam carried on to the cottage, marvelling at the irony of having some local villain's phone number in his pocket. He had wanted to ask them why Carl had taken out the loan, but he thought that might be pushing his luck. Anyway, they probably wouldn't know. Their job was simply to chase down those who didn't pay.
Had money been the root cause of Carl's complicated life? Sam wondered if it was also the motive behind his death. A dire financial situation would explain Bill Seymour's evasiveness yesterday. The accountant had certainly sounded annoyed at Carl when he found out cash was being paid out for Sam's employment. With redundancies at the factory, Seymour would have been aware the business was having money issues. But did he know about the loan? Did he know Carl had resorted to such drastic measures? Sam was positive the key to all this was Carl's reason for needing quick money. Find that out and the mystery surrounding his death would become clearer.
***
He could see a solitary figure waiting patiently on his doorstep. A car was also parked outside the front of the cottage. Sam took his foot off the accelerator and allowed the Clio to slow down. He was still some distance from the cottage, and the man waiting outside hadn't looked his way yet. Sam watched him shrug in disappointment and get into his car. He had been carrying a small machine. A dictaphone.
It was a reporter.
Sam was thankful he was in Lucy's car and not his own. The Capri would be well known to the press by now. He watched the reporter drive off in the opposite direction. Even if the man had looked in his rear view mirror, he wouldn't have given the blue Clio a second glance.
Sam pulled up outside the cottage. Getting out of the car and walking up the path, he was struck by an eerie sensation. He felt as though he were a stranger calling on somebody. Visiting someone else's home rather than returning to his own. He told himself to get a grip. He had only been away for one night.
Sam unlocked the front door, pushed it open with some trepidation and let out a small sigh of relief. His living-room was still in the same state he had left it. However, there were two pieces of paper just inside the door that hadn't been there yesterday. He bent down and picked them up. One was a blank white card. He flipped it over and read the other side.
James Taylor. Bursleigh Sentinel.
Next to the print was a short, scribbled message.
Please ring me. Tell your side of the story.
Sam laughed. No chance. James Taylor wouldn't be interested in the truth. His concern would be finding a good headline, regardless of its content.
Sam studied the other piece of paper. It was a ragged, lined sheet, crudely torn out of a writing pad and folded in half. He opened it up. The short sentence had been scrawled in black ink.
Forget Carl Renshaw or you will pay.
Sam knew he should be disturbed, but he wasn't. He was on the right track. Somebody was scared he was getting close to the truth. But who? The note had been delivered during the last twenty-four hours, so he had to presume it was somebody he had contacted yesterday. Sam ran the day through his mind.
He had visited Arthur to talk about Peter Canning. Was Arthur in cahoots with Peter? Sam found that hard to believe, but he couldn't rule out the possibility the two men had been in touch since. The old boy could have innocently mentioned Sam's visit.
Then there was Martyn Taylor. Sam had certainly upset Taylor enough for the man to want revenge. By going onto his manor and doing two of his men, Sam would have slighted Taylor's reputation. It would have been an insult too large to ignore. Martyn Taylor would be raging right now. Absolutely livid. But what was it he had said to Sam last night? Something about Carl not being relevant anymore. Was Taylor trying to imply he hadn't been involved in Carl's death? That his only tenuous connection now was the personal feud that had developed between Sam and himself? Sam wasn't convinced. He thought Martyn Taylor was trying to throw him off the scent.
The only other person he had seen yesterday was Bill Seymour, and Sam would have said the accountant had been left more irritated than enraged by his impromptu visit. Seymour was probably embarrassed at the financial mess Carl had got himself into. Annoyed he was the one left sorting it out. Anyway, Seymour didn't strike Sam as the type to send threatening notes. Peter Canning or Martyn Taylor, perhaps. But not Bill Seymour.
There was one final aspect for Sam to take into account. Who knew where he lived? Sure, half the town's press now knew, but his address hadn't been made public. He supposed somebody could have found out from a reporter but he didn't think so. He hadn't even given Carl his address. The only others who knew the cottage was his home were the police and Lucy. Then again, he appeared to have someone looking after him right now. If that person was following him closely, the chances were they had seen him at the cottage. Sam dismissed that idea. Why would anybody go to the trouble of rescuing him from danger only to threaten him with this note?
Then it came to him. Of course.
The person who had broken in. The intruder who had ransacked his home.
They had searched for something and hadn't found it.
And now they were trying to scare Sam off.
Chapter 54
Sam let himself in.
'Lucy?' he called out.
No answer.
He looked in each room, but she wasn't at home. He searched around for a note. Nothing. Sam wasn't too concerned. She had mentioned she might go to the shop. He sat on the sofa and waited. There was little else he could do. He wouldn't feel comfortable wandering around her flat. He hadn't know her long enough to do that.
After ten minutes, he got up and went to the window. Looking out, he saw a row of shops at the far end of the street, just a couple of minutes walk away. If she had gone over there, surely she should be back by now? Puzzled, he sat back down, wondering exactly where she had walked to. He didn't want to ring her and come across all clingy.
Twenty minutes later and Sam began to get worried.
***
He tried her phone a third time. This time someone answered. Only it wasn't Lucy. It was a male voice.
'Is that Sam Carlisle?'
Sam's blood ran cold. The voice was muffled. Somebody didn't want to be recognised.
'Yes, it is,' he replied, trying hard to contain his anxiety. 'Where's Lucy?'
Silence for a moment.
'I've got her...'
'What do you mean, you've got her?'
Another pause.
'I'm holding her with me until I'm satisfied you're going to keep your nose out-'
Sam exploded. 'What the hell has Lucy got to do with this?' he yelled down the phone. 'If you hurt her-'
The line wen
t dead. Sam took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in fury. He couldn't comprehend the need to drag an innocent person-
An innocent person.
Elizabeth. Danielle.
It was happening again.
To Lucy, this time.
To Sam, all over again.
And the dreams.
The dream last night.
Lucy in danger.
Seconds later, and much to his relief, his phone sprang back into life. A text message from Lucy's number. Sam fumbled with the keypad in an effort to get the message on display.
Will ring you back later. Give you a chance to calm down. No police.
Sam read it over and over again, furious with himself for losing his cool. He had put Lucy at risk by letting his emotions get the better of him. He had to forget about the past for now. Elizabeth. Danielle. Walters. The dreams. The drink. None of it was relevant right now. Lucy's safety was paramount, and he was only going to ensure that by keeping a clear head.
Think, he told himself. Think.
Sam paced up and down the living-room, running the short telephone conversation through his head. The man had said he was holding Lucy. I'm holding her, not we. That meant he was working alone. Or holding Lucy hostage by himself for now.
What about the pauses? The uncertainty in the voice?
Sam believed it was somebody unfamiliar with taking such extreme measures. And unprepared, too. This course of action hadn't been thought through properly. Lucy's abduction was a knee-jerk reaction borne solely out of panic. A foolhardy attempt to stop Sam from digging any deeper. If something had triggered the writing of the note dropped through Sam's letterbox, then something else had happened since. An event that had scared the person responsible for Carl's death enough to resort to kidnapping.
Was this Martyn Taylor's way of getting revenge while persuading Sam to stay at arms length? If so, then Sam was sure Taylor would have left it to one of his men to take Lucy. The Withdean's top dog wouldn't want to get his own hands dirty. Or had Peter Canning lost his patience with Sam's interfering? Had he been provoked into taking more drastic measures than intended? Then again, Sam considered murder quite a serious action. Grabbing somebody off the street and holding them against their will. A small act in comparison.
A New Dawn Rising Page 17