The Hostage Heart

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

“So he’d be bound to know about it,” Gavin said, following the thought. “When I was a kid it was a ‘dare’ place for boys, because of being haunted. And older lads used to go there to smoke or mess about.”

  “I think you’ve got something,” Moss said. “We’d better take a look at this Sparlings place. In fact, I think I’ll go myself.”

  “Please – let me go with you!” Gavin begged, his eyes naked. He needed so desperately to do something. The waiting and the inactivity were torture.

  Moss smiled. “I was thinking of it,” he said. “I need you to show me where it is, apart from anything else. But listen to me,” the smile disappeared. “No heroics, you understand? You stick close to me, do nothing but what you’re told to do: these people are dangerous. Above all you say nothing, no matter what the provocation. Keep your mouth shut, and your eyes and ears open, and tell me afterwards if you notice anything. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” said Gavin.

  Sparlings stood amongst trees, and what had once been its garden was overgrown with brambles and ivy. By the time Gavin and Moss arrived with two uniformed constables, three other officers were already in place, hidden in the trees and bushes: one at the front and two at the back.

  The man watching the front of the house made room for them silently. “All right, Gardner? Anything?” Moss asked.

  Gardner removed the field-glasses from his face and handed them to Moss. “There’s someone in there all right. I saw a movement at one of the upstairs windows about ten minutes ago. Nothing since.”

  “No sign of the hostages?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No idea how many of ’em are in there?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Hmm,” said Moss. “You don’t know much, and that’s a fact.” He surveyed the house closely. Gavin looked too, with his unaided sight. The windows of the ground floor had been boarded up, but the upstairs windows had been reglazed since he had last seen the place. It was a simple, square house – rather like a child’s drawing, with a window at each corner and a door in the middle, a pointed roof and a chimney. An old and very thick creeper grew over the face of it, and there was a tumbledown collection of sheds and lean-tos to one side. Round to the rear, as Gavin knew from his past explorations, there was another short wing to the house, making it effectively an L-shape cradling a small yard at the back, with more sheds and old stables.

  At last the Superintendent lowered the binoculars. “All right,” he said, “I think I’ll go and have a word with them.”

  “Sir—” Gardner said, in warning or protest. Moss looked at him impatiently. “It could be dangerous. They might be armed, sir. Why not go in in force, take ’em on all sides at once? We can get the Armed Response Unit here in fifteen minutes, no sweat. Overpower ’em before they’ve got a chance to make plans.”

  Moss looked pained. “No, no, no. Let that lot in with their hormones on the rampage? D’you want to start a shoot-out? I don’t want bullets flying around when we don’t know exactly where the hostages are. Besides, we don’t know yet that we’ve got the right place. Let’s find out what we’re dealing with first. The whole thing could be legit, and then we’d look like prize prawns, sending the ARU in against a bunch of woolly squatters.”

  He stepped out of the shelter of the bushes and looked the house over carefully.

  “I still think it would be better to try and take ’em by surprise,” Gardner tried one last protest.

  “Too late for that, laddie,” Moss said, seeing a movement at a window. “They already know we’re here.”

  He turned to his uniformed companions. “All right, Simpson, Clarke, come with me. The rest of you keep out of sight. Yes, all right, Mr Akroyd, you can come too. Stick close and keep your mouth shut – remember what I told you.”

  Gavin nodded, and the four of them started out towards the front door. “Let’s keep it nice and relaxed,” Moss said as they neared the house. “We don’t want anybody frightened into doing anything rash.” And he stepped into the porch and rapped on the door. Gavin pointed out the old-fashioned iron bell-pull, and he pulled on that, too, and they heard the bell ringing somewhere in the depths of the house.

  Gavin didn’t think they would get any response, and was surprised when after only a short delay the door was opened. Before them stood a middle-aged man with close-cropped grey hair, a lined, pale face, and very watchful eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed in grey trousers and a white shirt without a tie. He looked neat and tidy, but tired and unwell. Seeing him standing there, apparently unarmed, and the bare house open behind him, Gavin wanted to rush him, grab him, pin him to the wall and make him tell them where Poppy and Emma were. Behind him he almost felt the uniformed officers stir, as if they, too, felt the same urge.

  But Superintendent Moss was a monument of calm. “Well, well, well,” he said with cold geniality. “If it isn’t Gentleman Jim! And what might you be doing here, may I ask?”

  “Hullo, Superintendent,” the man said without pleasure. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “I asked first,” Moss insisted.

  “I’m a local. Born and bred in Thetford. Why shouldn’t I be here?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  James shrugged. “I got to live somewhere. I’ve just come out of gaol, as no doubt you’re aware.” Moss nodded impassively. “I’ve got no money, nothing to live on, and I knew this house was empty, so – I sought shelter. Everyone’s got the right to basic shelter, haven’t they?”

  “Every honest man, maybe.”

  James managed to look pained. “I hope you aren’t going to harass me, Superintendent. I’ve paid my debt to society. I’m a respectable law-abiding member of the public now.”

  “Haven’t laid a finger on you,” Moss said smoothly. “Yet. On your own here, are you?”

  “Of course. Who were you expecting?”

  “We’re looking for a friend of yours. Andy Luckmeed.”

  “I haven’t seen him. I told you, I’m only just out.”

  “He came to see you in gaol, Harry. We know that.”

  “I haven’t seen him since I came out. What d’you want him for?”

  “Broken his parole. Hasn’t checked in. Don’t want the lad to get in trouble, do we?”

  James looked past Moss’s shoulder at the uniformed men. “All this just to look for a missing parolee? What are you up to, Moss?”

  “Mr Moss, if you don’t mind. Well, if Andy’s not here, and you’re not up to anything, you won’t mind if we come in and have a look round, will you?”

  Gavin was aware of the increase in tension in the Superintendent as he put this question. But James did not flinch, or whip out a gun, or take to his heels. He merely smiled – a slow, spreading, unpleasant smile.

  “Not at all,” said Gentleman James silkily. “Be my guest. I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything, but I’m living here under rather Spartan conditions.”

  He stepped back and extended his arm, inviting them past him; Moss’s face was far from happy as he walked in.

  Climbing into the back of the police car beside Gavin, Moss said, “Smartarse little bastard! I’d like to take him to pieces!” He fumed for a moment or two in silence, and then asked Gavin, “Did you see anything?”

  “There was nothing to see, was there?” Gavin said, depressed.

  “I knew there wouldn’t be, or he wouldn’t have asked us in.” He shook his head again. “Bastard! He must’ve moved ’em. I suppose Andy Luckmeed’s got ’em holed up somewhere else. Damn it, now we’ve got to start again from scratch.”

  “Can’t you arrest him, make him tell us?”

  Moss shook his head. “Nothing to arrest him for. I’ve got nothing to connect him to the snatch except that he knows Luckmeed and Metcalf – but so do lots of people.”

  “But he’s trespassing, isn’t he? Can’t you get him for that?”

  “He’s squatting, and to get him out I have to have a court order proving crim
inal damage.”

  “But—”

  “It wouldn’t make him any more likely to tell us where he’s stashed ’em, would it? No, no, we need him on the loose, so that he can give himself away and lead us to them. He was very bold, showing us round, Mr Harry James – very confident, but he wasn’t happy about it. He knows we’ll be watching his every move now. He thought we’d never find him in a deserted house in the middle of a wood, and he must have been pig-sick when we turned up at the door. If we keep the pressure up, he’ll panic and give himself away, or make a break for it. Then we’ve got him.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Well, to get the money he’s got to communicate with one of his mates, hasn’t he? And they’re not over-endowed with brains. They’re his weak spots – them, and his own over-confidence.”

  But meanwhile, Gavin thought, Poppy and Emma are in danger, frightened and alone. There must be some way he could help them. And there was something about the house that was bothering him. He didn’t know what, but something.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Andy, going idly to the window to see what sort of day it was, had seen Moss and his companions arrive. He sprang back from the window like a scalded cat, and then rushed to the Boss’s room.

  “The cops are outside! There’s a police car! They’re coming to the door!” he babbled. “What’re we gonna do, Boss? Shoot it out?”

  The Boss was just finishing shaving, with difficulty, in a tiny bowl before a hand-mirror propped on the dado-rail. He scowled. “Shoot it out? What’s the matter with you? Pull yourself together, for God’s sake! You’ve got a brain like a colander.”

  “A what?” Andy said blankly.

  “Skip it. I’ve told you we’re quite safe here. What I’m going to do is invite them in—”

  “What?” Andy almost shrieked.

  “Shut up! I’ll keep them talking at the door for as long as possible, but then I shall invite them in. They’ll look round, and they’ll find nothing, and then they’ll leave.”

  “But Boss—!”

  “Don’t you see, you idiot, it’s the only way to convince them we haven’t got the kid here? They’ve got nothing on us. They can’t touch us. What you’re going to do is go to the room, lock yourself in with ’em, and keep ’em quiet at all costs. You’d better gag them – the girl is capable of risking getting shot for the sake of getting the kid rescued.” He said it without admiration. “If there’s no other choice, cold cock ’em, but try not to damage the kid. When it’s all clear, I’ll come and knock.”

  Emma and Poppy had still been asleep when Andy came in, which allowed him to get the gag on her before she really knew what was happening.

  “Sit there on the bed,” he told her, “put your hands on your head; don’t move an inch, or make a sound, or I’ll belt the kid with this.” He gestured with the gun. Emma stared at him, eyes wide and confused above the gag.

  “What’re you going to do to us?” Poppy whispered, her eyes filling with tears of fear.

  “Shut up,” Andy snapped. “I’m not going to hurt you. Now turn around.”

  He turned her with a rough hand on her shoulder, and gagged her too. Emma’s mind was clearing. There’s someone out there, she thought. Someone’s come to the house – the police? Someone’s traced us, and if I don’t do something they’ll go away and never know we were here. She stood up, regardless of the danger, but Andy took a step forward, gun raised, his face pulled into an ugly sneer.

  “Don’t even think it! You make one false move, princess, and I’ll knock you out. D’you want another head wound? Sit down, hands on your head. Sit down!”

  Emma sat, miserably, on the edge of the bed, and Andy thrust Poppy down on her knees in front of and facing Emma, effectively blocking any movement.

  “That goes for you too, Arry,” he said, rubbing the muzzle of the gun against the side of Poppy’s face to get her attention. “You move or make a sound, and I’ll hit her, right where she got it before. You get me? Now shut up!”

  They waited, Emma sitting, Poppy kneeling and pressed against her knees, Andy standing behind Poppy and holding her by her hair. Tears rolled freely down Poppy’s face, soaking the gag. Andy was braced and taut, listening, sweating rankly with fear. Emma listened too, her heart thumping like a trapped bird in her chest, hoping and fearing. Oh find us, please find us! she thought desperately. There were footsteps and bumps, now near, now far, now on the floor above their heads. We’re here, she cried in her mind, willing them to come, trying to call them telepathically. But after a long time, the footsteps went away, and eventually perfect silence reigned. And then there was a knocking on the door, which made them all jump. But Andy sighed with relief, and she knew it was not rescue.

  “All clear,” he said, backing to the door and taking the key out of his pocket. He unlocked it, and the Boss came in, looking pleased with himself.

  “Well, that’s that,” he said. His hard eyes met Emma’s above her gag. “The police have been here – in force, I may add. They’ve been here, searched the house to their hearts’ content, and gone away again, perfectly satisfied that you aren’t here, and never have been. Brains, you see, will always overcome brawn.” He grinned. “Your would-be rescuers stood only feet from you, and walked away again.”

  Poppy was crying dismally, and Emma stared at their tormentor with hatred. He didn’t need to come and say those things. He did it because he wanted to hurt them. He didn’t just want the money. He wanted power over people, and when he had that power, he would use it to be cruel. She realised then that they had been lucky so far not to be hurt; that luck might not hold in the future. If the money was not forthcoming, he might very well want to prove himself by taking it out on them. Her heart sank to its lowest level yet. Did the police really think they had never been here? Did that mean there was no chance of rescue?

  The Boss seemed happy with his effect on them. “All right, Andy, you can take the gags off. Then lock ’em in and come with me.”

  The Boss left, and Andy undid Poppy’s gag. She dragged in some sobbing breaths, and Andy, seeming a little unnerved by her crying, said, “Oh, can it, kid! Nobody’s hurting you, are they? As soon as your old man coughs up the dough, you’ll be home and dry.”

  “He’ll never pay you!” Poppy sobbed passionately. “Daddy won’t give you a penny!”

  “You’d just better hope he does,” Andy said grimly. “I reckon you can manage for yourself, princess.” Emma undid the gag, and he held out his hand for it impassively, and then went away, banging the door behind him. Poppy flung herself into Emma’s arms, and Emma let her have her cry out. When the child was calm again, Emma got up and went over to the corner, took the handkerchief out of her pocket and poked it through the hole in the wall. There was a saying about stable doors and horses; but there was just an outside chance that someone might come back. And in any case, there was nothing else she could do.

  Gavin wandered round in a fret of anxiety. Something about the house bothered him, but what? It nagged and nagged at him senselessly; like the sound of a baby crying in the distance, it was something he couldn’t quite ignore, and yet which he could do nothing about.

  The police had their duties to follow, leaning on Billy Metcalf, looking for Andy Luckmeed, trying to prove a recent connection between them and Harry James, searching for any clue as to where the hostages had been moved to – and how. But Gavin, with nothing to do to occupy him, just went over and over the situation in his head, retreading in imagination the bare floorboards of that house, seeing again the dusty rooms, empty but for dead leaves and bits of fallen plaster. The search had been thorough enough to satisfy even him that Poppy and Emma were not there.

  But what, he asked himself, was Sparlings for, if it was not where they had taken the victims? Why would James go to the trouble of setting up the house just for himself, while his prisoners were kept somewhere else? Logic had led the searchers to Sparlings, a logic which said the gang needed an isolate
d place, and a place they knew would be empty. How many more such were there within the area? Why hadn’t the police, who had been methodically visiting every isolated house, found it by now?

  No, Sparlings must have been meant as the hideout. But if that were so, why would they move the prisoners elsewhere? And when? They could not have done it when the police first arrived: the house had been surrounded, and no one had come out. And if they did it before the police arrived – well, why? You were back to why? It made no sense.

  Yet Harry James had been so utterly confident that they would find nothing; his confidence, and the fruitless search, had convinced Superintendent Moss. But Gavin’s mind would not rest. Logic said the prisoners must be in the house; and if that were the case, they must be hidden in some particularly clever way. Yes, Harry James was pleased with himself – pleased with his cleverness. The prisoners were there, but James was sure they would never find them.

  The only thing to do, he thought, was to go back and have another look. The police wouldn’t do it, of course. They were pursuing their own plan. But there was nothing – except the police themselves – to prevent Gavin from breaking in at night and taking a look around. As soon as he came to the decision, a great calmness came over him. He was going to take action at last; and it was the right thing to do. He knew they were in there somewhere.

  When the house was quiet, he got up, dressed in black trousers and a black roll-neck sweater, put on soft-soled black moccasins. He put his Swiss army knife into his pocket, and a pencil torch and a short but very heavy spanner into the other pocket. On a thought he added a plastic card with which to slip any Yale lock he might encounter. Then he went quietly down the back stairs and out into the park. The moon was in its first quarter, but it was a clear night, so there was enough light to see by.

  He had moved his car during the day, leaving it near the side gate to the park, which he had left unlocked. He drove as near as he dared to the place, and then left his car and walked the rest. He had the advantage that he knew the ground and he knew where the police were positioned. The officers had made a loose perimeter round the house, but they would be looking for someone to break out, not to break in. And with all his experience of badger-watching and bird-watching, Gavin could move as soundlessly as a cat.