by Bill Kitson
‘I suppose not, and the kidnappers might have had some idea of when we would be home.’
Brian blinked with surprise. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘I’ll tell you in a minute; continue with what you were saying.’
‘OK, let’s go over what we do know and try to work out what advantage that gives us, if any. First off, thanks to your detective work at the graveyard, we know who they are. Not, as we assumed, Trevor Matthews, but this other character.’
I had thought it must be Trevor Matthews until I read the inscriptions on the graves at Luddenden. The third headstone I spotted, for Harold Matthews’ daughter, was the key. Deborah Matthews-Bartlett had died only three years ago, leaving a daughter and a son, Derek; grandson of Harold Matthews.
I explained the connection. ‘Derek Bartlett is captain of the shooting syndicate at Rowandale Hall. Another member of the shoot is Ursula Moore, also his mistress. When she isn’t shooting or copulating with Bartlett, she’s a Leeds’ solicitor – in the practice headed by Norman Rhodes. That explains how Bartlett knows so much about you, and why Rhodes was so obstructive. I suspect he was being manipulated by Ursula Moore. It could also explain how they would know what time we were due back here. All she had to do was instruct Rhodes to phone her as soon as we left his office.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Brian had taken full charge of the situation. ‘OK, now we have a clear picture of who we’re dealing with. You said earlier that you’ve only seen them in the pub so it’s extremely unlikely that they would recognize you. Add that to the fact that they have no idea what I look like and that gives us another potential advantage.’
‘What might that be?’ I was curious where this was going.
‘I’ll come back to that in a minute. As for the main problem, how do we find out where the girls are?’
‘If your theory about it being somewhere local is correct, the obvious place would be the cottage where Bartlett and Ursula Moore meet up for their dirty weekends. By what Zeke Calvert and Henry Price told me it’s over at the far side of the estate, backing onto the moor.’
‘I know the one you mean, but I’m not sure they’d use somewhere that could give their identity away. They’ve gone to some trouble to set Trevor Matthews up as the patsy; using that cottage could spoil that. But it might be worth checking the place out.’
‘When are you thinking of doing that?’
‘Tonight, of course. Before we do I need to think our strategy through. First, we need food. Food and lots of coffee. There won’t be any sleep for us tonight.’
‘Why don’t I make sandwiches whilst you start thinking?’
By the time I placed the sandwiches on the table, Brian had more or less worked out our plan of action. I handed him a mug of coffee and as I ate, listened while he outlined his ideas.
‘Let’s start by stating our objectives. A lot of this might seem obvious, but we need it clear in our minds. Most important of all we need to ensure that Babs and Eve are released unharmed.’ I nodded. ‘We can’t rely on bargaining to achieve that. They’ve already set up Matthews as the fall guy but the girls would be able to identify the real culprits. So unless we engineer their escape, the girls will be killed. We have to outmanoeuvre the killers and set Babs and Eve free ourselves.’
I felt a shiver run down my spine. ‘Then how do we go about it?’
‘It would help if we knew for definite where they are.’
‘OK, again assuming it to be somewhere local and we discount that love nest of theirs, they would need somewhere that was remote, where they would not be overlooked. Ideally it would be somewhere that was–’ I stopped in mid-sentence, staring at the house keys I’d put on the table earlier. ‘Preferably somewhere unoccupied, remote, and moreover, somewhere Ursula Moore could have obtained keys for without anyone else knowing. Somewhere like Rowandale Hall.’
There was silence as Brian thought this through. ‘You’re right, Adam. It’s the obvious place. That’s genius. If that’s the case, getting the girls free and clear should be relatively easy for me. However, we’re going to need a diversion. Simply storming the place when both Bartlett and Moore are there would be highly dangerous. We must lure one of them, preferably Bartlett, away from the Hall and then deal with the other one. The question is how?’
‘The answer to that is the gold,’ I said. ‘It’s what this is all about. If we offer to take him to where the gold is, I bet he’d jump at the idea. I also think he’d leave Ursula to guard the hostages against his safe return and to prevent us invoking the police.’
‘That’s logical, but it would have to be you that makes the offer. Are you up for it? I’m not decrying your strength or courage, but I’m combat-trained where you aren’t. Besides which, I think you’ll have the more dangerous task.’
‘I’m not worried about that. Well, not too worried.’ I saw Brian grin. ‘The problem as I see it is that they only want to deal with you.’
‘I agree, but how would they know?’ Brian asked.
‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’
‘How would they know if it was you or me? You said it yourself; they’ve never seen me, and they wouldn’t recognize you again. If you present yourself as Brian Latimer, how could they prove otherwise? We’re similar in age, height, weight, and build, even hair colouring. So if Norman Rhodes gave Moore a description of me, it could equally well fit you.’
‘OK, I’ll buy that, but there is one minor detail still troubling me. I’ve no idea how to get to the place where we think the gold is. That’s one extremely large forest, in case you hadn’t noticed.’
‘Don’t worry, by morning you’ll be able to find your way there without problem. I warned you we were in for a busy night. One more coffee then we must get started. You make it, I’ll nip upstairs to change. Back in a jiffy.’
He returned as I placed the mugs on the table. I glanced up. Brian presented a menacing sight, clad as he was from head to toe in black with the Ka-Bar strapped to his belt in a holster, and on the other side, an even more lethal-looking handgun. ‘First stop is your place. You need to change.’
I selected suitable clothing for our trek in the woods and we headed back to Rowandale. Once we were clear of the village, Brian gave me precise instructions. ‘As we near the Hall I want you to slow down. Not too much, just as if you were driving on an unfamiliar stretch of road. Don’t speed up until we’ve gone well past. Remember, one of them could be watching.’
His last words prompted a chilling thought. ‘What if there are more than two of them? Bartlett owns a big company. He could have got some of his workforce as hired thugs.’
‘We’ll deal with that problem if and when it arises. It’s worth bearing in mind though, and all the more reason for us to be ultra-cautious.’
I did as he ordered, and slowed the Range Rover to no more than thirty miles an hour as we passed the Hall. Brian peered towards the building and once I was beyond the gates, turned to stare out of the rear window.
‘Got it!’ he exclaimed, triumphantly. ‘You were spot on, Adam. There’s a faint reflection at the rear of the building. Someone has left a light on in one of the rooms at the back of this side of the house; and it wasn’t me. They must have thought because it’s at the back that nobody passing on the road would notice. And they probably wouldn’t have done, unless they were looking for it specifically, as we were.’
‘What now?’ I asked.
‘Now we head for the forest. About a mile and a half up here there’s a sharp left-hand bend. Slow down as you take it and don’t accelerate afterwards. About three hundred yards beyond the bend there’s a little track goes off to the left. I want you to take it.’ He chuckled slightly, ‘Anyone seeing the car will think we’re lovers seeking a romantic rendezvous.’
‘Much as I’m getting to like you, Brian, that was the last thing on my mind.’
He tapped me on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit, Adam. We’ve got to keep our morale up and joke
s, even bad ones like that, are as good a way as any.’
Having left the tarmac surface, we bumped slowly down the track which had been rutted by any number of heavy vehicles. I assumed these to have been tractors, until Brian explained. ‘This is an old lumber trail. It was used to transport timber when the woods were being coppiced. For all I know it’s still used, although as Zeke isn’t managing the forest any longer, I doubt it.’
‘You’ll soon be able to find out now that the estate belongs to you.’
‘That’s true, I never thought of that. Somehow I still can’t get used to the idea that I own all this. I suppose it will come, given time.’
‘What’s the plan? I mean, why are we here?’
‘If you succeed in luring Bartlett away from the Hall, you bring him here. Tell him this is the most direct route to where the gold is. That’s not true, but he won’t know any different. It will give me time to do what I have to, and to catch up with you before you get to the falls.’
‘You still haven’t explained how I’m going to do that.’ As I was speaking the lumber trail, which was hardly wide enough to take the Range Rover let alone commercial vehicles, broadened out into an area big enough to accommodate a dozen cars, I guessed.
‘This is where they used to load the wagons,’ Brian told me. ‘We’re on foot from now on. Follow me, and stay close. The first couple of miles will be straightforward enough, because you’ll be going down the track they used to haul the logs to the wagons. Barbara’s grandfather worked in this part of the forest for years, so I’m told, using his team of heavy horses to drag the timber out of the woods. After we leave this track it gets a bit more complicated, so I’m going to prepare a map for you.’
The night was bright but cold and occasionally, through the canopy of branches overhead, I could see a few stars gleaming brightly. Apart from that, all was dark. Dark but not silent. It takes some time for those unaccustomed to the countryside to appreciate and understand the sounds of the night in woodland such as this. That night was an education for me in more than one way. The soft savagery of an owl hunting for its supper I recognized easily enough, but when it was followed by a blood-curdling scream of pain, I feared that some creature was in mortal agony. Brian put me straight. ‘That’s a vixen having an orgasm. Sounds terrible, doesn’t it?’
‘At least someone’s enjoying themselves,’ I muttered.
Although the dense woodland provided almost as much shelter as a ceiling overhead, we could hear the sound of the wind blowing quite strongly. It rustled the few remaining leaves that had withstood the autumn shedding, and caused the limbs of innumerable trees to creak alarmingly. I felt extremely vulnerable, far from my natural environment. Brian, however, was quite at home, seemingly careless of any danger from falling timber. Likewise, although I stumbled several times when my foot got caught by low brambles, he seemed to be impervious to them. We must have been walking for the best part of half an hour before Brian told me to stop. By now, with no competing light to spoil my night vision, I was able to make out our surroundings–just about. I remembered something a rebel leader had told me long ago, when I was hiding out with his group of tribesmen in the Ethiopian mountains. ‘No matter how dense the night, there is always light to guide those who know how to use it.’
Brian spoke, startling me slightly. ‘Here’s where you will branch off.’ I saw his arm wave towards a gap in the undergrowth opposite us. ‘Remember to take the fork to the right.’ He made it sound like a road junction, which to him I suppose it was. ‘Just to be sure, I’m going to give you a direction sign. Wait there and don’t move.’
One second he was there alongside me; the next he was gone. The night was silent, apart from the faint rustling of leaves. Either we were in shelter or the wind was dying down. That would mean frost. I wondered if our footsteps would be visible next day, then told myself to forget about it. I had plenty of other things to worry about.
Into the near-silence came a new sound, an incongruous one, for all that we were in a forest. It was almost as if someone was sawing wood. Then the noise ceased as abruptly as it had started. Seconds later, Brian returned.
‘Was that you making that noise?’
‘Yes, I told you, I was making a signpost for you. As long as you know what to look for and where, you won’t miss it. I’ve cut a square of bark from an ash tree a few yards down the track. I’ll do the same again when we get to the next turn.’
‘Isn’t that a bit risky? What if whoever is with me notices it?’
‘I doubt if they will. They’ll be too busy watching where they put their feet to look upwards. I shinned up the tree and cut the piece from the trunk about twenty feet overhead.’
He made it sound like a simple, everyday task. Which I suppose for him it was.
After another half hour’s walk–or so I guessed, during which we stopped twice for bark removal, I heard a tiny sound in the stillness of the night. At first I wondered if it was the rustle of leaves, but the wind had died away completely. I stopped to listen. The noise was only just audible. It sounded like a human voice, speaking in a whisper, as if keen not to be overheard. Brian too had stopped and seemed to be listening. ‘Brian,’ I spoke as quietly as I could, ‘What’s that?’
‘That’s the Silent Lady. There must have been more snow to melt than I thought; she’s making more noise than usual. Come on, we’re almost there.’
A few seconds later, we emerged from the woods. I looked up and could see the pattern of thousands of stars in the night sky. What light there was glittered on something in front of me, a broad band of silver that was continuously changing, and I realized we were standing on the bank of Thorsgill Beck, its water twinkling as it flowed swiftly past us.
‘This way, Adam, we’ve a call to make.’
We walked for a few hundred yards, going slowly uphill; our progress slower as we had to scramble over rocks in places. I guessed we were close to the falls, but before we reached them I saw the outline of what appeared to be a building, its oblong shape jutting out slightly from the tree line. I gestured towards it. ‘What’s that? It looks like a small house.’
‘That’s exactly what it is. Welcome to my second home.’ He approached the building and fiddled with something in front of him. I heard a creaking sound, reminiscent of all those haunted house films, before Brian said, ‘Adam, turn your head away and look at the beck for a few seconds.’
I did as instructed, and, after hearing a scraping sound behind me, saw the reflected glow of light in the stream. ‘OK, you can turn round now.’
I turned back and stared at the interior of a small log cabin illuminated by an oil lamp that hung suspended from the ceiling. The construction was superb; all the logs joined invisibly and even the furniture looked as if a craftsman had been at work. ‘Who built this?’ I asked.
‘I did; it took me six months to make it weatherproof. Then I had to build the furniture.’
‘Where did you get all the tools you needed?’
Brian grinned. ‘I stole them from myself. I burgled Rowandale Hall and raided the workshop there. That gave me saws, hammers, screwdrivers, nails, screws, and even some glass for the windows.’
He gestured to each wall and I noticed the apertures for the first time. I walked into the cabin, which was generously proportioned, and examined the interior more closely. There was a double bed which had a mattress and bedding, all folded and piled neatly at the foot. In addition there was a table, two chairs, and a small work surface with a cupboard below. To one side of this, Brian had constructed a kiln-like oven of bricks, with a metal chimney that disappeared through the roof.
‘That’s clever–’I gestured towards it,‘–where did you get the materials? Don’t tell me, Rowandale Hall?’
‘You got it. Now, how about a cup of coffee and I’ll get what I came here for.’ Heopenedthecupboard and took out a small Primus stove. He filled this from a tin of paraffin, before handing me a kettle. ‘Go fill that from the stream, w
ould you? I’m afraid I only have powdered milk.’
I returned a few minutes later to see that Brian had unearthed a couple of tin mugs and a pair of binoculars. We sat down to wait for the kettle to boil and he told me about the glasses. ‘These are night vision binoculars. I thought they’d come in useful when we go back to the Hall. I want to do a recce before dawn.’
After our drink, Brian took me further upstream to the base of the falls where the beck had formed a deep pool. He gestured to the water. ‘The legend is that this pool is bottomless, but I can’t say whether that’s true or not. I use it as a bath and shower combined. So did Babs when she stayed here.’ He turned and handed me the binoculars. ‘Focus on the far side of the beck. I think you should be able to see the bell pits from here.’
I did so. The binoculars gave everything a strange, green cast but I could clearly see the depressions where men had delved in ancient times. ‘They look like huge bomb craters,’ I told him.
‘They do a bit, don’t they? I’d never thought of them that way. Now, let’s head back to the car. We’ve still lots to do before morning.’
Whilst he was tidying the cabin, I glanced at my watch. It was a few minutes after 1 a.m. As we emerged from the building I looked across the stream; then glanced up to where the Silent Lady loomed, dark against the night sky. Somewhere under that waterfall was the bell pit containing a hoard of gold; the value of which I could not begin to guess. ‘One thing you haven’t explained is, how do we get across the beck to the pits?’
He chuckled. ‘I thought you were never going to ask. The answer is right in front of you, but you won’t be able to see it until daylight. There’s a set of stepping stones which are clear of the water at all times, unless there’s been a torrential downpour. You’ll be able to cross them in perfect safety tomorrow.’