When the doorbell rang shortly before ten o’clock, she assumed it was the postman and answered it ill-prepared for the face that greeted her. It belonged to Chief Inspector Golding. And he was not smiling.
‘Could we have a word, Miss Ladram?’
‘Certainly. Come in.’
They went into the lounge. An offer of coffee – even of a seat – was declined.
‘What can I do for you, Chief Inspector?’
‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss. Your sister-in-law, Mrs Abberley, has informed us of your recent contact with her daughter’s kidnappers.’
Charlotte was aware of Golding’s eyes watching her closely to gauge her reaction. She could not suppress a reddening of the face, though it was occasioned more by anger than discomfort. However anxious Ursula might be, there could be no excuse for this. If she had insisted on telling the police, Charlotte would not have objected. But to do so in this way was to make her appear the villain of the piece. As was perhaps the purpose.
‘I take it you don’t deny speaking to them?’
‘No. I don’t.’
‘Or trying to persuade Mrs Abberley to keep it to yourselves?’
‘We agreed … for the present … in view of the doubts you’d expressed …’
‘The doubts I’d expressed?’ Golding treated her to a scornful look. ‘Have you any idea how irresponsible you’ve been, Miss Ladram? Mrs Abberley is under a great deal of stress. By taking advantage of her vulnerable condition—’
‘I didn’t take advantage of her. And I didn’t persuade her to do anything against her will. Irresponsible or not, it was a joint decision.’
‘That’s not Mrs Abberley’s version of events.’
‘I’m sure it isn’t.’
He frowned at her. ‘Have you and she … fallen out?’
‘You could say so, yes.’
‘About what, might I ask?’
‘You may already know.’
‘Ah! You mean the private detective’s report and the tape recording which Mrs Abberley said you passed on to Mr Fairfax?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ He deliberated for a moment, then said: ‘Whoever persuaded who, the fact is you both behaved very foolishly.’
‘Perhaps we did, but—’
‘Not to mention criminally. You could be charged with obstructing the police in the execution of their duty.’
Charlotte made to reply, but suddenly felt exasperated and wearied by the hoops she had been obliged to jump through. With a tired little toss of the head, she turned away and sat down in an armchair, motioning for Golding to do the same. After some hesitation, he did so.
‘Well,’ he said, more moderately than before, ‘there won’t be any charges of course. But it’s as well Mrs Abberley made a clean breast of it when she did, especially since the tape recording confirms – so she tells me – the existence of the letters which … which has been called into question in certain quarters.’
‘Yes. It does.’
‘I must ask for your assurance that there will be no repetition of this kind of conduct.’
‘You have it.’
‘And your co-operation in the monitoring of all future calls to this number.’
‘You have that as well.’
‘Finally, I shall require the immediate surrender of the report and the tape.’
‘Mr Fairfax has them.’
‘Yes. But I thought you might like to explain to him why he must give them up. Rather than let me do it.’
‘Thank you. I would.’
‘Very well. If you and Mr Fairfax come to my office at,’ – he glanced at his watch – ‘four o’clock this afternoon, bringing those items with you, we will regard the subject of your withholding them until now as closed. Is that agreed?’
‘Yes. It’s agreed.’
‘I can only express the hope that you’ve not endangered your niece’s life by such behaviour.’
‘So can I.’
‘I shall of course require a full statement from you concerning your contact with the kidnappers.’
‘I’ll make one out this afternoon.’
‘Good. Well …’
‘Is there something else?’
‘No. Nothing else.’ He rose. ‘Until four o’clock then.’
‘Yes, Chief Inspector. I’ll be there.’
‘I’ll see myself out, Miss.’
Charlotte waited until she heard the front door close behind him. Then she hurried into the hall and picked up the telephone, intent upon speaking to Ursula and demanding an explanation. But even as she framed the words in her mind, confidence deserted her. What was the point of further recrimination when Ursula’s motive was plain to see? The tape – and her disclosure of its existence – would gain her Golding’s confidence. It would focus his attention where it should be focused: on finding Samantha. To that extent, what she had done was understandable. Letting Charlotte take the blame was merely a side-effect, almost an after-thought, though one she might well have relished. Why give her the satisfaction of knowing her ploy had succeeded? Why give her anything at all?
Charlotte pressed the receiver down, then dialled the number of Fithyan & Co.
23
AN EARLY LUNCH and a failure to return to the office afterwards was not how Derek would have wished to start the week at Fithyan & Co. Once he had heard of Charlotte’s predicament, however – explained to him in a quiet corner of the Beau Nash Tavern, Mount Ephraim – he realized there was nothing else for it. Reluctant as he was to part with evidence that went a long way to exonerating Colin, he knew surrendering it voluntarily was vastly preferable to having it seized. Accordingly, he drove Charlotte to his house straight from the Beau Nash. There they collected the report and the tape recording – and Derek paused long enough to telephone Carol with a flimsy excuse for his absence. Then they headed for Newbury.
Their reception at the police station was a bewildering mix of the gruff and the polite. Golding asked to speak to Charlotte alone and Derek was left on an uncomfortable chair in a busy corridor studying a LOCK IT OR LOSE IT poster for more than an hour before being summoned to join them.
Golding’s office was grey and cheerless, with the disorientating feature of being substantially higher than it was wide. The only source of colour was a multi-hued Venetian blind, in front of which Golding sat at his desk, with a female officer beside him. On the other side of the desk sat Charlotte. Beside her was an empty chair towards which Golding flapped his hand.
‘Take a seat, Mr Fairfax.’
‘Er … Thanks.’ Derek looked at Charlotte as he sat down, but all she could manage was the faintest of smiles. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting so long, sir. There’s been a great deal to discuss. As I’m sure you can imagine. But I think I have the whole picture now. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ladram?’
‘I’ve certainly told you everything I know, Chief Inspector.’
‘Quite so. Better late than never.’ Golding grinned sarcastically. ‘I’ve listened to the tape recording and I’ve perused the report. As I assume you’ve also done, Mr Fairfax?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m not investigating the murder of Miss Beatrix Abberley, but I shall certainly pass on my tentative conclusions to the Sussex Police. They may well feel the case against your brother is substantially weakened by what’s come to light. This fellow …’ He sifted through some notes. ‘Spicer. The late Mr Abberley’s former chauffeur.’
‘He phoned Ursula the day Maurice’s murder was reported in the press,’ said Charlotte, glancing at Derek. ‘I’d forgotten about it till now.’
‘Which means we can find out where he called from,’ said Golding. ‘Mrs Abberley’s phone was being monitored by then. All calls were automatically traced.’
‘I see.’
‘I have one of my men working on it. We should have the result soon.’
‘Er … Good. I … I’m grateful.’
‘I think you can rely on my coll
eagues in Sussex dealing with the case energetically. It promises to be rather more straightforward’ – he grinned – ‘than my own enquiries.’
‘How will those be … taken forward?’
‘I can’t be specific at the moment, sir. No doubt we shall consult the Spanish police, since it seems clear matters Spanish lie at the root of this. We may also ask the French police for help in tracing Madame V. But it’s a tall order. There’s not much time left and a great deal we still don’t know.’
‘I’ve already apologized for withholding the information, Chief Inspector,’ said Charlotte edgily. ‘Several times.’
‘So you have, Miss. Nevertheless—’ He was interrupted by a knock at the door. A middle-aged man eased his way into the room. ‘Yes, Barrett?’
‘We’ve traced the call, sir. He rang just before midday on Tuesday the eighth. Identified himself as Spicer. Which is how Mrs Abberley addressed him. He was calling from a pay-phone in a pub at Burnham-on-Crouch in Essex. The Welcome Sailor.’
‘The Welcome Sailor,’ mused Golding. ‘And the missing chauffeur. Thank you, Barrett.’ The door closed again. ‘Well, Mr Fairfax, as you can see, we’ve already made more progress than you managed on your own.’
‘Yes. So it seems. I—’
‘Mr Fairfax only did what I asked him to do,’ put in Charlotte. ‘He didn’t persuade me any more than I persuaded Ursula.’
‘Maybe so.’ The sarcasm drained from Golding’s face and was replaced by a steely earnestness. ‘But I want to make it clear to both of you – as I shall to Mrs Abberley – that any further information you come across touching on this case should be communicated to us immediately. We shan’t be so tolerant if this happens again. There must be no more going it alone.’
‘I’m sure—’ Derek began, only to be cut short by Charlotte.
‘There won’t be, Chief Inspector.’
‘Good, because—’ Golding broke off, then made a vague temporizing gesture with his hand and said: ‘Well, perhaps the point is made.’ He sighed. ‘You can go now, Mr Fairfax. I just need Miss Ladram to sign her statement.’
Oh, right. I …’ Derek rose, looked uncertainly at Charlotte, then turned to confront Golding’s slack-jawed stare. ‘Well, thank you, Chief Inspector.’
‘Don’t mention it. Only doing my job.’ His stare hardened. ‘My job. Not yours.’
Derek waited for Charlotte in the car park. When she emerged, looking tired and exasperated, he made various consoling remarks, most of which she seemed not to hear. She had lapsed into gloomy self-absorption, perhaps in reaction to Golding’s interrogatory methods. Whatever the cause, it placed her beyond Derek’s reach. He could only wait patiently for her to draw closer once more.
‘Do you want to go home, Charlotte?’
‘Not yet. Unless you’re keen to get back.’
‘No.’
‘Then could we drive to Walbury Hill? It’s only a few miles away.’
‘Where your brother was … Where you found him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure you want to go there?’
‘I’m sure.’
It was a cool and breezy evening of clear air and limitless horizons. There were only a few other cars in the lay-by at Walbury Hill and their occupants had scattered far and wide. Of the scene Charlotte and Ursula had confronted two weeks before there was neither sign nor trace. Charlotte stood on the spot where Maurice’s car had stood that morning and gazed to the north, her coat buttoned to the collar, scarf wound around her neck. She looked cold and Derek wanted to put his arm round her, to give her some measure of warmth and comfort. But he only shifted his feet uneasily beside her and broke the silence with a banal remark.
‘Golding seems a good man. I’m sure he’ll do his best.’
‘There’s nothing he can do.’ Charlotte did not phrase her response as a rebuke, but it had much the same effect.
‘They are the experts.’
‘Not in what’s befallen Sam. They’ll question Frank again and maybe Lulu. They’ll consult the Spanish police. And time will slip by. And come October the eleventh, they won’t know any more than we know now.’
‘You mustn’t give up hope.’
‘Why not?’ She turned to look at him. ‘I’ve been thinking about Sam in the same way as Maurice and Beatrix recently. No longer here. Nor ever likely to return.’
‘But Sam isn’t dead.’
‘Not yet. That’s what makes it worse. I can’t help it, Derek. If nothing can be done to save her, I almost wish she was already dead.’ Her chin drooped. ‘There, I’ve said it. I’ve said what I should never even have thought.’
‘It’s understandable.’
‘No. It isn’t. Nothing has been since …’ She swung round, confronting the patch of chalk and turf where the Mercedes had been. ‘Since Maurice heard them coming for him that night.’
‘I’m sorry, Charlotte.’ Tentatively, Derek touched her elbow. ‘Really, I’m so very sorry.’
She pulled away. ‘It’s September the twenty-first today,’ she declared. ‘Three weeks from now, it will be all over. Maurice’s folly will have run its course.’ Her tone altered as she glanced at Derek. ‘I’d like to walk to the top. It’s only a little way up the track. Will you wait for me in the car?’
She did not want his company. She had no use for it. That was clear. He murmured his agreement and watched her walk across to the bridlepath and start up it towards the dome-shaped summit. Did it end here? he wondered. Was this a more than merely temporary parting of the ways? The wind was tugging at her hair, the setting sun turning it to false and fleeting gold. His brother was to be given a second chance. But for her brother there could be no reprieve. On this hilltop, she walked in his shadow. And in the shadow of events yet to be. Which Derek could neither alter nor prevent.
Part Four
1
EVERY MORNING WAS the same. Samantha woke and for a split second imagined she was still at home, still free to stretch and rise and walk and wash, still at liberty to heed her instincts and indulge her whims. Then reality closed its cold hand around her and she remembered her captivity as one seamless procession of days that had begun just like this.
The air was chill. She could see her own breath as she exhaled. Each day the sun rose later and weaker and with it her strength too seemed to ebb. Along with hope in a future not bound by the rough blankets rubbing at her chin, the cobwebbed ceiling above her head, the tiny window, the table in the corner, the hard wooden chair, the threadbare rug, the wax-choked candlestick, the bucket, the crucifix, the chain trailing from the bed-post to her wrist beneath the covers. As she stirred, so its heavy links sounded their familiar reminder.
What was the date? Wednesday the thirtieth of September or Thursday the first of October? She had felt so confident at the outset in her ability to keep track of time, but now it was beginning to desert her. She could ask Felipe, but he would probably only shrug and pretend he did not know. As for Miguel, he would treat her to a long stare with those soulful eyes and mutter something she did not understand.
Not that it really mattered. Whatever the precise date, she knew she had been here for the best part of a month, confined in this tumbledown shepherd’s dwelling among the mountains. Which mountains was another question, but they were not so very far from the coast, to judge by how long it had taken to drive here from whatever port they had arrived in. Northern Spain, then, which the steadily falling temperature tended to confirm. Spain for certain. That much Miguel had volunteered to her at an early stage.
‘You are in España, señorita.’
‘Where? Where in Spain?’
‘You will stay here – with us – until we have what we want.’
‘What is it you want?’
He had not replied, then or later. Was it money? If so, surely her father would have paid long since. Or her mother would have forced him to. Either way, ransom would have been no problem. Yet a problem there undoubtedly was. For the fir
st few days, they had been calm and relaxed. Then something changed. A man she had never seen before or since came at night. He was thin and softly spoken and smoked an expensive cigar. He had asked how she was. He had smiled. He had been a model of courtesy. Yet he had argued with Miguel. In Spanish, of course. She had not understood a word. Except her own name. Abberley. Repeated over and over again.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said you will stay here.’
‘How long?’
No answer. No answer to that or any other question. She stayed and they waited. Every day the same. Or almost. Occasionally a third man, José, would take Felipe’s place for forty-eight hours. But Felipe would always return. She became more anxious than usual in his absence. José stared at her with greedy eyes and touched her and muttered suggestions of which no translation was necessary. Miguel often went away for hours on end, but never when José was there. Perhaps he too felt anxious about what might happen if he did.
After the coming of the man in the night, Miguel had grown glum and thoughtful. He too stared at her a lot, but in pity, it seemed, not lust. As for Felipe, perhaps his ignorance was not feigned. They played chess and draughts and she helped him improve his English. He was cheerful and good-natured. But even he was being worn down by the uneventful march of days.
‘What do you mean to do with me?’
‘Do not worry. It will be OK.’
‘Has my father paid the ransom?’
‘I know nothing about ransom. I know nothing about anything.’
‘Why won’t you let me go?’
‘We play chess again, yes?’
‘I don’t want to play bloody chess!’
‘But you will, yes? Just for me.’
She raised her hands behind her, grasped the brass rails of the bed-head, and squeezed them tightly, wondering how long it would be before Felipe came in with her breakfast. He and Miguel were up. She could hear them yawning and coughing as they moved around. How she hated the weary familiarity of those sounds. If only she had realized in time what was happening. Her only chance to escape had been at the beginning, when Miguel had loomed above her as she lay in the garden. She could have screamed or run. He had a gun, of course, but now she thought he would not have used it. Maybe not, at all events. She could have refused to write that note to her parents or walk obediently to the car and climb into the boot. She could have … But she had been so frightened, so shocked, so bewildered by the sudden invasion of her life. And she had wanted so badly to stay alive.
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