Turning Point

by Barbara Spencer

  ‘Mum’s going spare,’ he replied in answer to Mary’s question as to his father’s whereabouts. ‘Dad’ll be for the high-jump when he does appear.’

  ‘But he’s always off somewhere, Trav,’ Natasha butted in. Like all the Randal family, things came easy when she applied herself. Like Catherine Randal she was tall and willowy, and modelling school had been glad to accept her – earmarking her as a supermodel of the future. She was also a good driver, when she wasn’t chatting on the phone and, more than once, Travers had to refrain from grabbing the wheel as the Range Rover headed, at what seemed unstoppable speed, for the car in front.

  ‘I wish you’d get off the phone,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s dangerous and stupid, especially in a town.’

  ‘I was talking to Gladys.’ Natasha snapped the phone shut, dropping it back into the open mouth of her handbag. ‘She says that Scott is probably still asleep on her sitting-room floor but she met Hilary on the way out.’

  Travers heaved a sigh. ‘Thanks, sis, I was that worried, it nearly kept me awake.’

  In the back seat, Mary gurgled. ‘I assume, Tash, that since you’ve known Travers since birth, “almost staying awake” counts as ten out of ten on the worry scale.’

  Natasha eyes flashed to the rear mirror, smiling.

  ‘No use you two ganging up on me,’ Travers retorted indignantly. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean. And it makes good sense to leave the worrying to someone else. Besides, I did try and check in with Scott this morning to see how he was but his phone was switched off, so I guessed he was still sleeping.’

  ‘It’s unbelievable,’ Mary said. She leaned forward and placed a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder. ‘I wish Mr Randal was back – he must know someone who could unravel this mess.’

  ‘I agree – Scott was a real state last night. You could see the suffering plain as plain. I don’t suppose you caught the local news, Trav?’

  Travers shook his head. ‘You know me. I never listen to bad stuff before breakfast. Why?’

  ‘They found a body… ’

  ‘At the cottage? Oh my God!’ Mary gasped. ‘You don’t think… his dad…’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. From what Scott said – could anyone have survived that firestorm? Hilary said Scott is blanking her – refusing to talk about it. I mean, what if it is his dad? Mum’s practically a basket case already and dad’s only been missing twelve hours. It’s not like her to panic. But a whole gang of media guys have been invited for brunch tomorrow and she doesn’t know whether to cancel or keep hoping he shows in time. But she’s definitely…’ Natasha broke off. ‘Did you say Upton Street, Mary?’

  ‘Twenty-two Upton Court.’

  ‘Okay, this is Upton Street, so I guess it’s along here somewhere. Yes!’ Natasha indicated left, pulling to a stop in a red-brick courtyard, fronting a collection of two and three-storey townhouses; a For Rent sign pinned to the ground-floor window of two of them.

  ‘Let me go, Travers.’ Mary opened the rear door. ‘I’m not as intimidating.’

  Travers wound down the window in time to see the door open and a woman in her early sixties, her iron-grey hair neatly curled, come out onto the doorstep.

  ‘I thought you were the postman,’ she said to Mary. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Are you Mrs Davis?’

  ‘Yes, and you are?’

  ‘A friend of Wesley’s from school.’

  ‘Oh!’ The woman took a step backwards as if surprised. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve just missed him. He’s gone back to London.’

  Travers opened the door and jumped out. ‘For the weekend?’

  ‘No, permanently.’

  ‘So you’re not his mother?’ Travers demanded belligerently.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ the woman retaliated, her tone fierce. Her hand curled round the edge of the door, ready to shut it.

  Mary kicked him. ‘Sorry, Mrs Davis,’ she smiled her words. ‘My boyfriend got out of bed the wrong side this morning. We said we’d give Wesley a lift to the station to save him struggling with his suitcase on the bus. What a shame. What train did you say he was catching?’

  Automatically, as if wearing a timetable on her wrist, Mrs Davis glanced down at her watch. ‘I didn’t.’ Her tone cut the air like a knife. ‘How extraordinary, after months without friends suddenly three turn up on the doorstep. What did you say your names were?’

  ‘We didn’t,’ Travers said abruptly, drowning out Mary’s response. He pushed her towards the open door of the Range Rover. ‘Get in.’ He slammed the door, turning with a ready smile on his face. ‘Don’t worry; we’ll catch him at the station.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother. You’ll be too late.’ She spoke confidently, once again checking her watch.

  Natasha swung the heavy vehicle swiftly round in a three-point turn. She waved her arm at the woman still carefully watching from the doorway, and called, ‘Thanks!’ through the open window, before speeding back the way they had come.

  ‘Anyone find that conversation a bit odd – or was that just me?’ Travers buckled his seat belt. ‘If you want to break the speed limit, sis, I’ll ride shot gun and look out for coppers.’

  ‘No problem.’ Natasha shifted into fifth gear, the engine responding smoothly. Spray flew into the air from the wet roads as they pounded along between rows of garish hoardings advertising mobile phones, retracing their route back through the centre of town. Not many people were about, the sudden squalls keeping pedestrians to a minimum.

  ‘Odd, in that you thought he lived with his parents?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Davis, yes,’ Mary said. ‘It’s on his school record so why…’

  ‘Absolutely, Mary, bull’s-eye!’

  ‘Will someone explain?’ Intent on the traffic ahead, Natasha’s face took on a bewildered expression. ‘Mary might understand your code but I don’t.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. Wesley arranges an interview for Jameson. Jameson disappears. Scott questions Wesley. Wesley disappears.’

  ‘And the woman at the door had the same name but she wasn’t anybody’s mother,’ Mary added. ‘She might have been once – but she was old, like someone’s grandmother. And did you notice how her manner changed. She was all friendly at first.’

  ‘That could have been meeting up with Travers. He does tend to be full-on.’

  ‘Come off it, sis. I wouldn’t hurt a fly, you know that. Another thing, she took our number. I saw her watching as we turned into the main road. Put your foot down, Tash. If we miss him at the station, we’ll pick him up in Truro. He has to change there for the London express.’

  ‘Right!’ Natasha accelerated, the heavy vehicle leaping the orange traffic light. ‘I agree, if we’re to help Scott we need answers and, after what you’ve just said, I can’t help feeling Wesley knows more than he’s letting on.’ She swung the vehicle round an island, its neatly dug beds of earth waiting for the spring. ‘I wish Dad were here.’

  The single-track line from Truro to Falmouth earned its keep in the summer when thousands of visitors flocked to the area to explore its fine beaches and walks. For twelve years, the threat of radiation had reduced outings to the seaside to a single-day affair; even then few people had ventured into the water for fear of contamination. Now, with beaches and rivers at a safe level, tourism was once again the main industry in the town, with cruise liners visiting its deep-water harbour. As yet, though, nothing had been done to update the century-old station, giving passengers the choice of waiting on the platform or in an apology of a waiting room. Dingy, its windows smeared with salt spray, it boasted an out-of-order vending machine and half-dozen plastic chairs, which had been bolted to the floor, its only source of heat placed high-up on the wall out of reach of vandals. From time to time, an attempt had been made to smarten it up with brightly coloured posters of the region but these were instantly reduced to pornographic message boards.

  Before even the Range Rover had come to a stop, Travers was out charging into the building in the exact
ly the same way he charged down a rugby pitch – at full pelt – with Mary racing after him. Natasha switched off the engine, flicking the button on the key fob to lock the vehicle before following. They came to an abrupt halt, the diesel locomotive with its two carriages already in the station.

  ‘Start that end,’ Travers bellowed peering into the end carriage. ‘Got him!’ Flinging a quick glance at the station master, who was standing by the train whistle and flag in hand, Travers yanked the door open and dived in. He reappeared, carrying a suitcase in one hand and dragging the struggling figure of their schoolmate in the other.

  ‘Left without paying his bill,’ he called out to the station master who had taken an anxious step towards them.

  ‘Want me to call the police, sir?’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ Travers smiled reassuringly. ‘Mum only wants to be paid. He can wait and catch the next train. Can’t trust anyone these days.’ He glared down at the squirming figure. ‘Not a word, if you know what’s good for you,’ he growled.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Wesley gasped out over the strangle-hold on his collar. ‘They’ll kill me if I say anything.’

  ‘I doubt that and you’re staying – so get used to it,’ Travers muttered, watching the train glide into movement. The station master, after casting yet another suspicious glance in their direction, vanished into the booking office and shut the door behind him.

  ‘We’d better go – he’s bound to call the police,’ Mary said timidly.

  ‘Might be a good thing if he did,’ Travers agreed. ‘All this cloak and dagger stuff is doing my head in. Why are you running away?’

  Wesley glared defiantly and his small eyes narrowed even further.

  ‘You might as well tell us because you’re not leaving till you do.’ Travers dragged the still struggling figure over to the Range Rover and manhandled him into the back seat. ‘You go in the front, Mary,’ he said passing over the suitcase. ‘And dump that in the back.’

  ‘Wesley,’ Mary patted his hand in a friendly fashion. ‘I’m sorry you missed your train, but we need you to tell us where Jameson is. Everyone’s worried to death.’ She unlatched the rear compartment hoisting in the suitcase before climbing in beside Natasha.

  Natasha turned the ignition, switching on the windscreen wipers as a rainstorm blew in from the sea. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Somewhere quiet. The beach, it’ll be deserted.’

  ‘Jameson’s fine.’ Wesley glared defiantly. ‘I told Scott. Ask him, he knows where he is.’

  He flinched back into the upholstery Travers’ fist an inch from his nose. ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘No! Ask him. Ask Scott.’

  ‘It was Scott that sent us,’ Travers said calmly.

  Mary flashed a worried glance at Natasha. ‘I think we should go and have a chat with Sergeant Halliwell,’ she said, naming the local police officer. ‘He’d be very interested in talking to you, Wesley, particularly since you arranged Jameson’s interview and he hasn’t been seen since.’

  ‘Okay!’ Wesley’s eyes flashed. ‘But you’ve just made one hell of a big mistake. When my boss hears about it, you’ll be the one with a fist in your face and I’ll be laughing.’

  The coast road was empty except for dog-walkers braving the sudden squall. Natasha pulled to a halt. ‘I think we’ll risk it.’ She turned round. ‘My brother is a kindly soul and he’d think twice about kneeing a guy where it hurts most. I wouldn’t… and I can spot a lie at ten paces.’

  Mary glanced admiringly and bit her lip to stop from laughing as the older girl winked at her.

  ‘Okay, then. I’m not sixteen,’ Wesley spat out. ‘I’m almost eighteen and for the last two years I’ve been a recruiting officer for a top European force – very hush-hush. Only a few people know about them.’

  ‘Is that why you move about?’ Mary guessed.

  ‘Yes, I stay six months checking out the local area…’

  ‘So why did you pick Jameson?’

  ‘Because! He’s totally brilliant with computers, which is what they want. He’ll be trained up and earn shovel loads of money. He’s lucky. I was only ever employed to recruit.’ The boy’s tone sounded genuinely envious.

  He had to be telling the truth, Mary thought. ‘But why the secrecy and why did Jameson go without telling his family. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘That’s the price you have to pay. It’s a secret task-force, I told you. Stands to reason – it wouldn’t be secret if everyone knew about it,’ he said, his tone shrill.

  ‘You’re lying,’ Natasha smiled.

  ‘No – I promise!’

  ‘Don’t!’ Travers leaned in close and Wesley licked his lips nervously. ‘No way would Jameson have gone along with it. No one would. This is real life, Wesley, not a film script.’ He grabbed the boy’s jacket, twisting the collar in his large fist. ‘Something happened to Jameson at that interview and you’re not leaving till I know what, and where he is.’

  ‘He’s somewhere in France,’ the boy whimpered. ‘I don’t know where. I promise that’s the truth. Please, let me go. They can’t hear about this. I wasn’t kidding; I’m done for if they do.’ Noticing the sceptical expression on the faces of his three captors, he babbled, ‘Look, I didn’t want to do it but they made me. One more and one more… I made up my mind. I told Mrs Davis I was heading back to London but I’m not. I’m going back up north. Oh God – why did I ever believe that advertisement.’ Wesley dropped his head in his hands. His face crumpled, his skin tinged yellow like an old newspaper. ‘I promise you, he’s fine only he can’t come home yet. Not till they can trust him.’

  Mary held her breath, feeling the atmosphere tense, spine-chilling. She stared through the rear-view mirror. ‘Wesley, if you need help, Travers’ dad, Mr Randal, he’s knows all sorts of people.’

  ‘What advertisement?’ Travers’ tone was ice-cold, implacable.

  Mary stared at her boyfriend, unable to believe it was the same person. He was always so easy-going, never put out by anything – not even her nagging. And then she remembered Scott and Hilary.

  ‘Mega-bucks and a job for life.’

  ‘Go on,’ Travers said.

  ‘I was brought up in a kids’ home.’

  ‘What a shame.’ Natasha’s tone was tinged with sarcasm.

  ‘You try it,’ Wesley flashed back. ‘You’d have done like me if you had. There was this advertisement. It sounded too good to be true – and it was,’ the boy said bitterly. ‘There were loads of kids – not many English; mostly Turkish and from the Middle East. I went to Holland – it was exciting, I’d never been abroad. Except it wasn’t abroad – because you didn’t get to see much, as I said, not till you’d proved your loyalty.’

  ‘To?’

  ‘A new world order. For years the west has been dominated by big business led by the American dictators. Any country that dared stand against them has been invaded and turned into yet another capitalist state.’

  ‘You believe that?’ Natasha said.

  ‘It’s totally true. Ask anyone. South America, the Middle East – every country with reserves of oil and precious metals, the US have dredged up an excuse to invade them. They ignored poverty-ridden countries – like Africa. Not interested in people starving to death. Finally, they got their just reward.’ Wesley lifted his head, smiling almost boastfully. ‘Only, it wasn’t finished because Europe became corrupt then – just like America. Fat cats everywhere – while people like me live in gutters and starve.’

  ‘You’re not starving and you weren’t living in a gutter,’ Natasha retorted dryly. ‘Sounds like you learned your lessons a bit too well. Is that why you were sent to England?’

  ‘England’s my home and I was glad to help.’

  ‘So what changed your mind?’ Travers interrupted.

  ‘Nothing!’

  He peered closely at the trembling figure. ‘Something did. It was Jameson, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Okay! Yes! I wanted him to be my friend but he
wouldn’t – he hated me.’ Head down, Wesley mumbled the words.

  Travers and Mary exchanged astonished glances. ‘No!’ Travers mouthed, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. ‘I wanted to call a halt but by then it was too late – the interview was all arranged.’

  ‘So what about Scott?’

  ‘Scott! What’s he got to do with it?’ The guy sounded genuinely surprised.

  ‘Didn’t you hear? He’s wanted for murder. It was on the news last night. Two men got shot outside school, one of them Scott’s bodyguard.’

  Mary watched Wesley’s face turn an unbecoming shade of green as if he was about to be sick.

  ‘You have to let me go – please, I’m begging you. I’ve got to catch that train.’ His head flicked from side to side searching the empty road and beach. ‘They can’t know I’ve been talking to you.’ Wesley drummed his fists on his knees, his tone pleading. ‘I beg you; if you’ve any pity – let me go.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Travers held up his hand to stop him babbling on. ‘Tash…’

  Natasha nodded and started the engine, the steady rumbling seeming to calm the hysterical boy.

  ‘Look – come home with us,’ Travers urged.

  ‘No!’

  ‘If you really are scared, Dad’ll…’

  ‘NO!’ The word came out on a shriek. ‘They’ll find me. You don’t know them. They’re everywhere.’ The station came into view, the little commuter train already in view on its return leg from the city.

  Wesley leaned over into the back, dragging out his suitcase. ‘When you find Jameson, tell him I’m sorry.’

  Travers watched the rotund figure hurry into the station and disappear. From a distance, a whistle sounded. ‘Did you believe him?’

  Mary nodded. ‘He was terrified when you told him about Scott. No one’s that good an actor. Whatever’s going on?’