by David Wilson
Abigail shrugged. ‘I didn’t really know what I was going to do until I did it, it just came to me and seemed like a good idea at the time. All in the spirit of the adventure. Anyway, you were off with your policeman so I didn’t want to spoil it. How did you get on by the way?’
‘Great, he’s a nice guy. I’ll probably see him at the park later, he’s on duty. That is if we get there – what are we going to do about Alasdair? Does Sophie know about all of this?’
‘No,’ Abigail said sternly, ‘and I don’t want her to know unless I know for definite what’s happened. She would want to call the police but I already tried that and was told it was too soon and there was no evidence. I don’t want to spoil her big day if I can help it.’ Emma was sitting opposite her now, eating some buttered toast with a thick layer of rhubarb jam.
‘Aren’t you supposed to follow your gut in this type of situation? That’s what it says in the Handbook; I had a quick flick through it yesterday.’
‘Not you as well,’ Abigail tutted lifting a slice of toast. ‘That book’s going to be the death of us.’ She took a bite of the toast and then a sip of tea as Emma did likewise. ‘The trouble is,’ she said finally, ‘is that my gut instinct says he’s at Milton Scott’s house. If Milton has the brass neck to kidnap him in the first place I think he might well have kept him there rather than risk him being seen outside. I smelled him while I was there …’
‘You smelled Milton Scott?’
‘No, Alasdair, I smelled Alasdair and his back stuff. It’ll be lingering around that house for days now, you can’t get rid of it, it creates its own atmosphere wherever it goes.’ She paused again for more tea before going on. ‘We know that Milton Scott is guest of honour at the park today so he’ll be out of the house, right?’ Emma nodded in agreement. ‘So maybe we need to try and use that time to see if we can liberate Alasdair from the house, or at least gather some evidence that he’s there. If we can let Milton Scott think that we’re in the park and he’s got his attention focused there, then it might leave us an opportunity at his house. What do you think?’
‘It might work I suppose,’ she sounded doubtful, ‘but how do we let him know, we can’t exactly call him up and say “Hello, can you make sure you’re out of the house for a while”, can we?’
Abigail grinned excitedly. ‘Why not? That’s exactly what we could do.’ She almost ran back out to the hall and Emma followed after her and watched as Abigail picked up the phone and hit redial. She looked at Emma and put a finger to her lips.
‘Hi Alasdair, it’s Abigail again. I wish you’d call me back so I know you’re OK. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll meet you at the park at two o’clock this afternoon as planned. I’ll have the folder with all our evidence in it and we can walk up to the police station from there. See you then, I’ll just be in the main arena in front of the stage.’ She hung up the phone and let out a huge breath. ‘My God, that was exciting.’ Emma was looking on in amazement. ‘Abigail, I’m impressed. I never knew you had this in you. But one question, what if he doesn’t have Alasdair’s phone?’
‘Well,’ said Abigail casually, ‘if he doesn’t then one of two things will happen. Either nothing will happen, or Alasdair will show up in which case he’ll be in big trouble. But on the other hand, if Milton does have Alasdair’s phone then …’ she stopped as she heard her mobile phone beep from the lounge and they went through. ‘Ah hah, text message from Alasdair’s phone.’ She read the message aloud: ‘Abigail, Alasdair here. That sounds fine I’ll see you there at two.’ She glanced at Emma as she put down the phone. ‘Perfect.’
In the basement at Milton Scott’s house, the man in question was sitting on a chair opposite Alasdair on the couch and he had an unbearably smug look on his face. ‘Well, it looks like it’ll be easier than I thought to meet your friend Abigail.’ Alasdair looked shaken from hearing the message and listening to Milton dictate the text aloud as he typed.
‘You better not harm her or I’ll …’
Milton laughed and stood up. ‘You’ll what? You’ll not do anything since you’ll be sitting tight with your bodyguard here.’ He looked at his heavy by the stairs. ‘You can stay here with our guest – your brother and I will go to the park and sort out this Abigail woman.’
Chapter Forty
Abigail and Emma passed the morning as constructively as they could but something was nagging at them both and it was Emma who voiced it first, ‘Abigail? What if you were at the park and played along with whatever happens? Wouldn’t that look better and give more time at the house to get Alasdair? I mean if Milton Scott realises quite quickly that you’re not there then he might get suspicious and phone whoever might be at the house and alert them?’
Abigail’s mouth thinned. ‘I’d been thinking along the same lines but I don’t see what can be done, I can’t be in two places at the same time. I’ve got the perfect cover to go back to the house as I can say I’m picking up the charity bag I left yesterday. Then when they go to get it I’m hoping I can get inside and have a look around, or if not maybe even break-in through the back. Not sure, but …’
‘I’ll go.’
Abigail stared at her. ‘What? I don’t think so …’
‘But it makes perfect sense. He’s never met you before so he doesn’t know what you look like or how old you are so I could easily pass myself off as you, at least long enough to buy you some time. Come on Abigail, I want to do something.’
Abigail watched her closely – this was getting out of hand. This wasn’t supposed to happen, getting everyone involved in this business, especially someone that didn’t really have to be involved. But then again, going to the park wouldn’t be that dangerous; it was a public place with plenty of people around and it would be a good idea to have some cover there.
‘OK then, but you have to do as I say and stay in public places and no heroics, understand?’
Emma let out a small shriek of excitement. ‘Anything, God this will be fantastic.’
Abigail watched her race out of the lounge and upstairs to change. Well at least she’s happy which would appear to be an unexpected bonus, she thought.
Alasdair looked at his watch and saw that the time was one thirty. I’ve been here for almost a whole day now, he thought. Not sure I like this kidnapping business, the time really draws out and makes it a long day. Still, at least I’ve been fed and watered and he’s not just abandoned me in the cellar. I wonder if Soph’s phoned the police about me not coming home last night. If not then she’ll be busy now looking after things at the park; it’ll be in full swing now. But she must have noticed I didn’t come home, surely? Although with everything going on we could have missed each other between rooms. I wish I’d helped her a bit more with all the planning rather than just trying to take over like I always do. She’s a saint putting up with me sometimes and it’s about time that I started to appreciate it a little more. It’s funny how a near-death experience can make you examine things and see them more clearly. Speaking of which, I still don’t know exactly how near death my experience is at the moment. He said he would keep me until things were all done today which could give me about seven hours but then what if he changes his mind? For all I know he could have changed his mind and his goons are on their way here to sort me out at any moment. He heaved himself up from the sofa and walked around the room looking at everything again, trying to see if there was something that he could use for a weapon. Why is it that there’s never a stray wrench or hammer left lying around or even a big lump of wood – kidnappers always leave something like that around in the afternoon films on television but not, it would seem, in reality. Maybe I could hit them with a chair or this big magnifying glass, although they’re not the easiest things to swing over my head and with the size of those men it might just bounce off them anyway. No, it needs to be something with a bit more impact. He paced around the desk and back across to the sofa and plonked himself down, looking all the time for something. Come on Alasdair, he
chided himself, you’re a bright man, you’ve got to think of something. His eyes wandered the room again before falling on some small objects and he smiled. Of course, he thought, it’s child’s play.
Chapter Forty-One
Sitting in the car, parked a discrete distance across the street from the park, Abigail and Emma looked on as High Tea in the Park got into full swing. Emma wound down a window and they could hear the classical music drifting across, and in the arena a sizeable crowd was watching the stage. Almost as many people again were sitting in the marquees enjoying their cakes, toast or whichever course they were on. ‘It looks really something doesn’t it,’ she said, ‘especially with the castle in the background.’
Abigail had been sitting silently. ‘It does. I’m still not sure this is a good idea you know, are you sure you want to do this?’
Emma sighed. ‘We’ve been through this and we’re here now so I would just do it anyway when you left to go to Milton’s house so there’s no point even discussing it.’
Abigail put a hand on to Emma’s. ‘Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.’ She smiled. The music stopped and Emma looked down at the schedule she had for the day’s events.
‘Looks like there’s an American band on next, playing film and TV themes, which should be good. At least I’ll get to see them while I’m over there. Shouldn’t we get into position, as they say?’ Abigail nodded and they both got out of the car with Emma walking over to the park as Abigail walked down the road towards Milton Scott’s house, her head covered in the dreaded headscarf, wearing her sunglasses and affecting her now customary stoop which went with this disguise.
Emma walked into the park by the main gate past the Victorian drinking fountain and stood for a moment surveying the scene in front of her. The crowd of people seemed to be mostly around the sides of the arena, which had been roped off, and were either up close to the stage or perusing the stalls along the outer edge. If he’s going to see me anywhere then it’ll be right in the middle of the grass there. She was carrying a buff folder with her which was padded out with various pieces of paper and some old pages from a newspaper which they had cut up before they left, to give the authentic look of a folder filled with incriminating evidence. Emma had wanted to actually write the word ‘EVIDENCE’ on it in black marker but Abigail had quite rightly suggested that they might as well put the word ‘ACME’ on there as well if they were going to do that. The reference was somewhat lost on Emma at first but the cartoon quality of it was explained by Abigail.
She walked as casually as she could, since her nerves were jangling a little now, and stood in the middle of the grass and turned around in a circle. Trying not to look too suspicious just seemed to be making her feel even more suspicious. Five minutes became ten and the band on the stage was playing the theme tune from Jaws now, the low bass of the opening rumbling across the park. Just as she was thinking she might have to move onto somewhere else, a voice behind her made her jump.
‘Good afternoon Abigail.’ She turned and saw a thirtyish-year-old man, whom she didn’t find particularly handsome even with his expensive suit. He was smiling at her. ‘I see you have your folder with you. Waiting for someone in particular?’ Emma’s mind had gone blank when he had spoken but she suddenly remembered that she was meant to be Abigail.
‘Erm, yes actually. I’m meeting someone here shortly. Sorry I can’t talk.’ She turned around and held her breath waiting to see what he did next. Even with all the people milling around, she still felt her heart pounding in her chest with fear.
‘There’s no need to be rude Abigail, after all we do have a mutual friend in Alasdair Mills, don’t we?’ She turned around again and he was standing closer now, his breath smelling of jam, fish and cream all at once. He’s had his high tea then, she thought.
‘Oh, you know Alasdair do you? How come?’
He was smirking. ‘Come on now, we’re not going to play this game are we? You know who I am and I know exactly why you’re here. Something to do with that quite jam-packed folder under your arm. Why don’t I take that from you and we can go somewhere to discuss things?’
She gripped the folder. ‘No, I’m fine here thanks.’ As she said this she felt a strong hand grip her arm and a smell of sweat and beer filled her nostrils. She tried to wriggle her arm free but it was being held fast and, turning her head, she could see a huge hulk of a man now standing behind her gripping onto her.
The smile had left Milton Scott’s face and his eyes were piercing. ‘Don’t make a sound or it’ll be the last thing you do, I swear. Now, give me the folder and come with us.’ He reached for the folder and slid it from under her arm and was just about to open it when a voice rang out across the park.
‘Milton?’ He forced a smile onto his face and looked over Emma’s shoulder, past his accomplice, and towards the sound of the voice. ‘Milton, there you are, we need you for judging the cream cake contest in the main tent.’ Sophie walked over to where they stood and looked at them all curiously, holding her hand out to Emma. ‘Hello, Sophie Mills, nice to meet you.’ Emma’s head was spinning and Milton’s face was looking wrought with confusion.
He let out a snorting, almost nervous laugh. ‘Sophie, you know this person don’t you? Abigail Craig?’
Sophie looked at him. ‘Oh, this isn’t Abigail, although I’m sure Abigail would love to be this young again!’ Milton’s face briefly took on a confused expression but then erupted with anger and he ripped open the folder and saw the random pieces of paper inside which fluttered into the breeze as he scrabbled through them, ‘You …’ He looked as if he was about to hit Emma but stopped short. ‘Back to the house, now!’ The large man behind Emma released her arm and he and Milton raced off towards the gate. Emma felt in a state of shock but was still able, rather bizarrely, to register that the music now was the theme tune to Chariots of Fire.
Chapter Forty-Two
In the basement of Milton Scott’s house, Alasdair let out a huge yell of pain and rolled on the floor clutching his chest. He could only hope that the sound would travel far enough through the heavy door at the top of the stairs and into the house for Milton’s heavy to hear it. He was sure that Milton would be at the park by now as planned, since there was no way he was going to miss his big day in the spotlight, and only one of his heavies would be in the house now. He let out another howl of agony and rolled onto his back crying out again for good measure. This time he heard the key clanking into the lock and the door opened and the heavy appeared. ‘What the hell is all the noise about? Get up and keep quiet or I’ll give you something to shout about.’ Alasdair rolled over again and clutched his chest even tighter and shouted back breathlessly.
‘Help me, I think I might be having a heart attack, please!’ He wondered if his performance was perhaps a little too over the top, it certainly wasn’t going to win him an Olivier award, but it seemed to have worked in getting some attention anyway. He rolled about on the floor but sneaked a look to the top of the stairs and saw the heavy start to run down. He was on the fifth step when his foot slid out from under him and a Ford Capri car shot off the stairs from underneath his foot. A split second after that his other foot landed on top of a small Austin Metro which shot down the stairs as he tried to grab onto the wall, but his hands just slipped on the smooth surface and he flailed helplessly. They say that in moments like these things go in slow motion but from Alasdair’s point of view it was anything but, as the huge man fell with a resounding crunch and crumpled down the stairs. The man started rolling around on the floor in agony as Alasdair hauled himself up using the sofa and ran, veering around him and going up the stairs. He stopped at the top and looked back to see his captor get to his feet and look somewhat groggily up at him, but before he could make a move Alasdair stepped through the door and slammed it shut behind him, locking it quickly. Just as he was looking around the hallway he heard the loud doorbell chime and was suddenly thrown into a panic. It could be help, he thought quickly, but it could j
ust as easily be someone in on this whole thing. I better hide in case they come in.
Abigail pressed the doorbell again as she knew someone must be in as she could hear a door closing and then footsteps beyond the front door. But no answer came from inside. Chancing her arm, she pressed down on the handle and it clicked open, so she pushed the door inwards and saw the empty hallway. Oh dear me, she thought sarcastically, the door has opened all by itself – I better check everything is OK inside. She walked into the hallway and looked first into the lounge door but there was no one there. Then she went across and opened another door which seemed to be a home cinema room, with an array of sofas arranged in a semi-circle facing a large television mounted above the fireplace. Nice, she thought, closing the door again to move on with the search. She was about to go into what would be the kitchen when she heard a noise from behind another door across the hallway; a sort of groaning sound was emanating through the door. She threw off her stoop and nimbly crossed the hall to the door. ‘Alasdair? Is that you? Are you OK?’ Only a loud groan answered her. Oh my God it must be him, they’ve tied him up or been torturing him or goodness knows what. She noticed the large key in the lock and turned it, heaving open what was a heavier door than she was expecting. She looked inside and down the stairs to see a huge bald-headed man sitting on a sofa and looking up at her, rubbing his back and groaning. He let out a guttural yell and started getting to his feet. Abigail ran back out into the hallway, looking around frantically, ‘Alasdair?’ she yelled at the top of her voice, ‘Are you here? It’s Abigail!’ Over the grunting coming up the stairs behind her she heard a familiar shout from the main stairs in front of her.
‘Abby?’ she turned and saw Alasdair descending the stairs. ‘Thank God it’s you; I thought I was in for it. I managed to escape and lock the bloody great oaf in the basement.’ He gestured over to the door and saw it lying open. ‘Did you open that?’ Abigail nodded in a state of bewilderment. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’ He raced towards her, somewhat impaired by his now throbbing back, as a giant shadow appeared at the door. ‘Come on!’