Blood-Tied

  ‘I can get around that.’ Esme picked up the phone and pressed a series of keys. She listened for a moment, then replaced the receiver.

  ‘What was all that about?’ said Lucy looking alarmed.

  ‘Call diversion. I use it all the time when I’m working. Incoming calls go straight to my mobile.’ Esme snatched her mobile phone from off the desk and her coat from the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She slipped the phone into one of the pockets.

  ‘But won’t they know? They’ve got the line tapped, don’t forget.’ Lucy was looking pale.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if they do. It’ll be too late by the time they’ve put two and two together. Anyway, we’re not running out on them, just getting out of here. We can make contact once we’re in place.’ She looked down at Lucy’s terrified face. ‘Now’s our chance,’ she hissed, ‘while she’s talking to HQ.’ Lucy was still sitting upright in her chair as though cast in stone. Esme looked at her. ‘You can stay here, if you’d rather. Say I disappeared while you were in the loo. I don’t want to drag you into this if you don’t want to.’

  Lucy stared for a moment. Then she shook her head and stood up. ‘I think I’d better come and stop you doing something stupid.’

  Esme grabbed Lucy’s coat and threw it over to her. With one last glance in the direction of the kitchen, she seized the Ordnance Survey map from off the desk and they stole out of the front door.

  *

  Threatening clouds were beginning to crowd the sky as Esme and Lucy arrived at a patch of wasteland which was the closest place you could get a car to this section of the canal.

  ‘So where are they?’ said Lucy looking around.

  Esme opened the map and studied it. ‘The canal originally came along here,’ she said following the route with her finger. ‘That’s where I guessed that he might be, because there were all sorts of old buildings along that stretch. And there’s the entrance to the tunnel, as well.’

  ‘But that’s miles away. What are we doing here?’

  ‘This is the south end of the tunnel. It’s been bricked up for years so I didn’t attach any importance to it. I thought the other end would be more likely.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’

  ‘It’s changed,’ said Esme, folding up the map, ‘because it’s perfectly possible for someone to unbrick it. If it looks as though that’s happened, the inspector can redirect some of his men to look out here.’

  Esme opened the car door. ‘I’ll go down and see and report back. You hang on here.’ She climbed out of the car.

  ‘Esme?’

  Esme popped her head back inside. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is this wise? Just call them anyway and say you’ve thought of it. Don’t go poking round on your own. He could be out there.’

  ‘He’ll be keeping his head down, won’t he? He’s not likely to give himself away. I could be just taking a walk. He doesn’t know who I am from Adam.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  A momentary flicker of uncertainty flashed into Esme’s mind. True, how did she know? He’d known who to call, hadn’t he? He’d employed her. How did she know he’d not been watching her? An image of the black Audi came into her mind. Had he ever been close enough to see her properly? Not on the couple of occasions she’d noticed him, but what if there had been other times?

  She decided she hadn’t time to ponder on such trivialities. She still wasn’t convinced he’d blow his cover. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’d feel better about it call the inspector and tell him where we are.’ She handed Lucy his crumpled card from out of her pocket.

  Lucy fished her mobile phone out of her bag. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

  Esme closed the car door and set off towards the line of the canal. The grass was long and wet, and in no time her boots and jeans were soaked through. She forced her way through the areas of arching brambles which snagged her hair and jacket sleeves, until she reached the edge of the cutting. There was no water in it now but, overgrown though it was, there was still a discernible path down the middle. She set off in the direction of the tunnel entrance. She couldn’t see very far ahead of her because of the wide bend in the canal. Then, as it began to open out, she could make out the stonework of the original arch on the left hand side. Soon the end of the tunnel came into view.

  She halted abruptly. Even though she had considered the possibility, the sight of a hole in the wall large enough for a person to crawl through made her flesh creep. The bricks lying at the base of the opening were bright and clean, in complete contrast to those which remained in the wall. They had been removed recently. Of course it might mean nothing. It simply extended the possibilities. She backed off and scrambled up on to the bank.

  She called Lucy to get her to alert the inspector.

  ‘I’ve already spoken to him. Someone’s on their way,’ said Lucy. ‘But I’ll update him. Are you on your way back?’

  ‘No, not yet. I’ll have a look around first.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of going into the tunnel?’

  Esme laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid.’

  She disconnected and looked around. She could vaguely make out a solid shape across the other side of the canal. It was buried under a mass of branches and half-dead brambles. It looked like the remains of a building. When the branches were in full leaf it would be indistinguishable from the undulating landscape but the new shoots hadn’t yet filled out enough to screen it.

  She dipped down into the cut and climbed back up the other side towards the structure. It was most likely an old storage building, perhaps for housing coal to fuel the old steamboats. There were no windows in it that she could see.

  By pushing her way between the undergrowth and the wall she managed to manoeuvre her way along one side. If she could find the front entrance she might establish, discreetly, whether the building had been used recently. Buddleia had seeded deep into the base of the wall in places and it took considerable effort to shove her way through the tangle of branches which grabbed her jacket tails and pressed against her face. She stopped to take a breath and peered out. She had almost reached the end of the building. As she was about to force her way through the last knot of brambles she heard a car approaching. She pulled back, staying hidden behind the brickwork as it swung into view.

  Her stomach leapfrogged when she recognised the vehicle. It was the black Audi.

  33

  Esme stared, unable to move. A figure climbed out of the car. So this was Leonard Nicholson. Had to be. Although she could see the similarities to the police’s picture, he was different from the image she had formed in her mind. She’d envisaged a rough, coarse individual, which clearly this man was not. He was slight, almost fragile. She recalled Mary referring to him as a gentleman, a concept at which Esme had scoffed. Now she understood why Mary had described him that way, even if his conduct didn’t warrant the label.

  What should she do? Confrontation, while satisfying an urge within her, was not the wisest move. Irrespective of whether she would be risking physical injury – she had to remind herself of Elizabeth’s circumstances – it made more sense to keep Gemma’s predicament in mind and hope that he might lead them to her. But she couldn’t chance making a call on her mobile to summon assistance until he was out of earshot, and if she stayed back too long she might lose him. Already he was he was moving quickly away across the rough grass. In a few seconds he would be out of sight.

  She started after him. If she could just hang on to his route long enough to determine in which direction he was going, she could make her call and the inspector’s team could take over. She stumbled over the tufts of grass, cowering low so as not to attract his attention while trying desperately to keep him in view. But she was losing ground.

  Just as she was debating whether it would be more effective to stop and make the call, a particularly large and
slippery clump of grass defeated her. She lost her balance and rolled off it, turning her ankle. With a groan of frustration she went down. She put her hand out to stop her fall but instead of the rough grass her fingers felt the roughness of a rusting metal grid. It gave way under the pressure of her hand and she found herself tumbling into some sort of void. She plunged into an empty blackness. She landed with a thud, losing all sense of orientation.

  For a moment all she could hear was the echoing of her attempts at gasping for air. She slowed her breathing and when she was able she held her breath, listening. She was in some sort of chamber. She heard the drip, drip of water coming from what she realised was the roof of the tunnel. She must have fallen down one of the ventilation shafts. A musty, rotting smell accosted her nose. She felt sick.

  She tried to sit up. Her back and right hip felt bruised but there were no acute stabs of pain. Hopefully that meant nothing was broken. It was utterly dark around her. She couldn’t see anything but liquid black. She reached out and touched something. She flinched and withdrew her hand. It felt wet and slimy.

  She blinked. Slowly the light from above began to penetrate the blackness. Her eyes adjusted little by little and she looked up. She could make out the roof of the tunnel above her, around the narrow shaft down which she had fallen. Slowly she scanned down the wall. Her eyes fell on the object beside her. The shape compelled her attention. Even in half-light she knew that she was looking at a body.

  Suddenly someone started screaming, deafening and out of control. Esme put her hands over her ears to cut out the terrifying sound. Then she realised who was screaming. She was.

  *

  Lucy sat in the car, absently tapping her mobile phone against her chin. Occasionally she looked over her shoulder to see if Esme was coming into view. Surely she should have come back by now. What was she doing? Should she ring her? Lucy glanced at her watch. She’d spoken to her not three minutes ago. Esme would only complain that Lucy was overreacting.

  She sighed. She still thought it was mad to go wandering around where they thought Leonard Nicholson might be holding Gemma, but once Esme had got something into her head, Lucy knew from experience that it was all but impossible to steer her on a different course.

  She had already defended Esme’s actions to the inspector on the phone, as far as she could. Though from what she had heard in the background, the inspector was more furious with someone else than he was with Esme. Something to do with not making the proper checks at the exchange, which meant that they were unaware of the call diversion facility that Esme had on her line.

  Lucy took another glance over her shoulder. It was eerily quiet. The clouds were still hanging heavy overhead threatening to discharge a hefty shower at any moment. It created a menacing light which heightened Lucy’s disquiet. She opened the door of the car and stepped outside. She slowly made her way towards the direction Esme had taken. She stopped when she reached the top of the rise and scanned the distant landscape. Nothing.

  She tried to stay rational. From her first leaving the car, it had been a good fifteen minutes before Esme had phoned to say she had reached the end of the tunnel and that the wall had been breached. She had said she was going to look around before she came back. Lucy reminded herself that if she had done that, she wouldn’t be on her way back for at least another five minutes, assuming she’d only had a brief look around, and Lucy wouldn’t be able to see her coming for at least another ten. She was being over-anxious.

  She didn’t convince herself, though.

  She knew why Esme had felt the need to go in search of Gemma. It was partly because she felt it was her fault that Gemma was in this terrifying position and partly because of her past demons. When Esme’s husband Tim had been killed, it had been Esme who had found the body. Lucy prayed that the current crisis wouldn’t result in a similar tragedy. Esme might not recover from such a horrifying experience a second time around.

  And although Lucy told herself that one quick phone call to Esme’s mobile would resolve her anxieties she found she couldn’t make the call. She knew she was being weak. She wasn’t really deterred by the fact that Esme might moan at her for fretting unnecessarily. She was terrified that by telephoning she would discover that her worst fears were confirmed.

  34

  Lucy realised that she was gently rocking back and forth when the sound of fast-approaching cars startled her. She turned her head, terrified at what she would see. A convoy of patrol vehicles came hurtling on to the wasteland along with a posse of other unmarked, presumably police, cars. It was a relief not to be alone any longer.

  She saw Inspector Barry emerge from an unmarked car and she made her way over to him. ‘Any sign of Mrs Quentin, yet?’ asked the inspector as she came into earshot.

  Lucy shook her head. She lifted an arm and pointed down the canal route. ‘She went off in that direction. That’s where the tunnel entrance is.’

  The inspector turned and began directing members of his team. Lucy watched as two officers headed off with reassuring urgency along the empty canal. The inspector turned back towards Lucy but before he could say anything, his mobile phone began ringing. He reached in his inside pocket and snapped it open.

  ‘Barry,’ he barked.

  Lucy studied his face, trying to discern something from his expression. He gave a couple of instinctive curt nods as he listened, then abruptly severed the call.

  ‘You say Mrs Quentin’s got her phone on her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Call her. She needs to get back here.’

  *

  When she managed to stop screaming, Esme sat shivering, partly from the cold and damp and partly from shock. After steadying her breathing she forced herself a sideways glance at the body. It took all her strength and determination to focus long enough for her eyes to become accustomed to the gloom.

  There was no way of telling whether it was Gemma. It was too dark to make it out properly and it was wrapped in plastic sheeting of some kind. It had been tied tightly, though there wasn’t enough light to see detail. She supposed that that would be to stop the whole thing from coming loose while it was being transported. She certainly had no intention of unravelling it to look further.

  When they lifted the sheet for her to formally identify Tim it had been a devastating experience. It had taken many years before she was able to cope with the memory. But now the demons were threatening to take over. What hope was there now for her sanity if she looked beneath the shroud?

  She turned away. How had it come to this? Gemma had never wanted her to go digging about in Elizabeth’s past but Esme had ignored her because of her own overwhelming need for answers. Why should the need to know become so dangerous? Such danger existed if one was investigating serious crime or corrupt government officialdom in unstable countries, as she and Tim had proved. But this time all she had been doing was looking into Elizabeth’s family history.

  She took a deep breath and tried to stand up, deliberately looking away from the terrifying shape beside her. She looked up towards the shaft. It wasn’t so far up, which explained why she hadn’t broken any bones, but it would be another thing all together to climb out. Her only way out was to let someone know she was here. She was about to start shouting when she remembered her phone. Would she get a signal though? She got an immediate answer to her question. As she took it out of her pocket it rang.

  She felt a moment’s panic as a thought occurred to her. She’d re-routed her landline to this number. Was it Leonard Nicholson phoning to discuss their next move? What had she done? Just when she should be at home with the police nearby co-ordinating Gemma’s rescue she had gone off on a wild-goose chase. Had her impulsive actions caused Gemma’s death and scuppered hope of her own safe rescue? Or was he playing with them, having disposed of Gemma already?

  Before she had time to consider how to deal with what he had to say, she stabbed the
receive button. She had to believe that Gemma was still alive.

  ‘Hello?’ she croaked.

  Silence. She brought the phone round to look at the illuminated screen. The bars which indicated reception levels were fluctuating between one and completely dead. She stuck the instrument back on her ear again.

  ‘Hello?’ she called desperately. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Perfectly,’ said Leonard Nicholson’s voice.

  Esme froze. The voice hadn’t come from the phone. It was behind her.

  *

  Lucy clicked off her mobile phone and looked up at the Inspector. ‘I can’t reach her. It just keeps switching to voice mail.’

  ‘There’s probably no signal. She must be in a dead area.’

  Lucy winced at the description. ‘Well she wouldn’t have switched it off. Where could she be? I spoke to her all right earlier on.’

  ‘Sir!’

  The inspector looked round and headed over to join his colleagues, who were huddled over a map laid out on the bonnet of one of the vehicles. Lucy climbed out of her car and walked across to join them. As she approached, two officers hurried away, shouting instructions to other policemen in the car park.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Lucy asked the inspector.

  ‘The tunnel looked as though it had been breached, you said?’

  ‘Yes, but she promised she wouldn’t go down there.’ She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘You think she’s followed him into the tunnel?’

  The inspector sighed. ‘It’s possible, if she thought he’d lead her to Miss Holland. His car’s been sighted, so it’s likely he’s in the area. But we would have seen him if he’d gone in the tunnel at the north end. Unless there’s another way in. A maintenance entrance, perhaps.’

  ‘British Waterways might know, if anyone does.’