Turn and Die (Jordan Lacey Mysteries Book 7)

by Stella Whitelaw

  “Erck… phew,” I groaned, moving my mouth out of stiffness. I wanted a drink desperately.

  “Thank you, thank you. Who are you? Are you going to get us out of here?”

  “Shsh, please. Wilkes may not have gone yet. Keep very quiet. Undo my wrists now, the same way as I did yours. Then do your ankles. Take it very slowly.”

  It was hopeless. My wrists and fingers were balled up in two lots of twisted sticky tape, hers and mine. She began to cry with frustration.

  “Calm down, take it slowly. Find the end.”

  “I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know where it is… I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, lowering her head on to my shoulder.

  “Has lover-boy here got a penknife in his pocket, do you think?”

  She leaned over me, her heavy breasts almost squashing the breath out of me. There was hardly any headroom. She fumbled in his trouser pockets and came up with a penknife on a chain. This was becoming suffocatingly cosy.

  Her fingers were shaking as she tried to open it, not something she had ever done before. People could go their whole lives without opening a penknife. I was beginning to guess who she was, and suspected her next move. She was going to take the strapping off the man’s mouth.

  “No, don’t do that, not yet. He was once very unpleasant to me, very nasty. I’d rather he suffered for a few more minutes. Women and children first, the rule of survival.”

  “Okay,” she breathed. “Anything you say. You’re the boss, whoever you are. He’ll only make a noise.”

  She got the blade out and started to saw through the sticky tape. I wondered if I would have any fingers left. It was like an amputation. She was attacking the balled-up tape with enthusiasm. I prayed. “Steady now,” I whispered. “I need my fingers for tomorrow.”

  She slowed down, taking it off a bit at a time. We both had sticky tape sticking to everything – clothes, face, hair, everywhere. I couldn’t see her but I liked her. She was a gutsy woman.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jordan.”

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m Adrienne.”

  “I know,” I said. “You’re Adrienne Russell, Richard Broughton’s first wife. I know a little about you. It was an amicable divorce, wasn’t it? And you’re still friends with Richard Broughton? And this grunting body beside me, I take it, is Richard?”

  “Yes, it’s Richard. He seemed to need me even more after the attempt on his life. It really shook him. I’m sorry if he was nasty to you. It doesn’t sound like him. He’s a very pleasant man. What are we going to do to get out of here?”

  “As soon as I’m free, I have a master plan,” I assured her, not all that sure myself. It wasn’t all that masterly.

  “I like the sound of that,” she whispered, still sawing vigorously. “I’ve always liked Hoagy Carmichael too, even more now. That was very clever of you. I got the message.” The priest’s hole was becoming overbearingly warm with all the activity. I wanted to shed my jacket but I dared not. It was our lifeline.

  I licked my lips, praying for a shower of rain to come through the air hole. But the hole was probably inside the house, not outside.

  “I’m so d-dry.”

  “Richard has a flask in his pocket. But it’s brandy, not water.”

  “Anything…”

  More heaving and gasping as Adrienne leaned over me and removed the flask from Richard’s pocket. She unscrewed the top and held it to my mouth. I took only a single mouthful. It was a mature brandy, one to savor, but I wanted only the liquid. I let it swill round my mouth before swallowing it.

  That was a mistake. I nearly choked as it set my oesophagus on fire. Wow. I nodded my thanks. A very good brandy indeed.

  My wrists were almost free. Then they were free and I rubbed my sore skin. We were both sitting up, heads against the roof of the hole. We bent and began to unwind the tape off our ankles. This was easier than the wrists. A lot had stuck to my elastic ankle support so I unrolled it off and the tape came with it. I’d sort it out later, much later. I rubbed my ankles. We gripped hands in the dark.

  “What do we do now, Jordan?” Adrienne whispered.

  “I have to keep moving,” I said. “Up and down the priest’s hole on my knees, lengthways. Trust me, it’s the only thing that might possibly save us.”

  “Can I free Richard now?”

  “Only his mouth, so he can breathe a bit better, and tell him to keep quiet. Keep him out of the way so that I’ve room to move. I don’t want him lumbering all over the place, getting in my way.”

  Funny how eyes can see in the dark eventually. I couldn’t really see anything, but I sensed how Adrienne looked, and Richard. He was heavier than I remembered. Adrienne was quite motherly, about fifty, much nicer than I had thought. Funny how we get ideas about people. Ideas are not reliable.

  “Jordan?” he said, gruffly. “Don’t I know you?”

  “You certainly do,” I said grimly.

  I began to crawl up and down the priest’s hole. It was all I could think of doing. I had to keep moving, or rather keep my jacket moving. It was no fun.

  Richard was still trying to speak. “Shhh, Richard,” Adrienne was saying. “Keep your voice down. They might still be around. Jordan is wonderful, she’s marvelous. She’s trying to get us out of here. How could you be rude to her?”

  “I don’t remember being rude to her. Was it on the phone or something?”

  His voice was croaky. I didn’t recognize it. And he seemed older than I remembered. Had he aged in the last few weeks? This was possible.

  I was crawling backwards and forwards.

  No room to turn round. I had to crawl backwards. It was like a sadistic assault course. My knees hurt. They felt raw. It was agony but I had to keep going. Move, move, move… I was getting dry again but dare I risk another swig of brandy?

  “Shall I do this crawling about for a bit?” Adrienne asked, bewildered.

  “No, it has to be me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll explain later, I promise. When it works. If it works.”

  I was finding it difficult to believe. It wasn’t just a straw in the wind. It was a feather in a hurricane.

  Twenty-Four

  I was exhausted. It was not exactly a marathon but I’d been crawling up and down for what seemed like hours. I’d had a few more sips of brandy and was beginning to feel quite euphoric. There was a sort of cloudy feel to the air. I was beginning not to care any more. So I could die in a priest’s hole. You had to die somewhere.

  It didn’t matter any more.

  “Please keep going, Jordan,” Adrienne was saying. “You have to save us. We don’t deserve to die like this.”

  “Can you hear anything?” I said.

  “No, nothing.”

  We’d both forgotten about Richard. He did not seem to be moving so much. He might have dozed off. Adrienne was determined to keep me going. I was on autopilot. I was barely speaking. I was dragging myself along.

  “Can you hear anything yet?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “There must be something soon…”

  We were exhausted beyond belief. Adrienne and I both lay down, gasping for breath, the walls closing in on us. I couldn’t think coherently. I’d almost forgotten why I was there. Space has a strange effect on the mind. It empties rational thought. It removes the shreds of time. I was a shell.

  “There’s a sound.” It was Adrienne, sitting up. “I think I can hear something. Yes, I can definitely hear something.”

  “What sort of sound?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, it’s cars. There are cars coming up the drive.”

  “Listen. How many cars? What can you hear?”

  “I’m trying.”

  I dragged myself upright and listened up to the air hole. Cars? Yes, they sounded like cars, but there were no sirens. Not necessarily police cars. We still had to be careful. It could be Wilkes coming back.

  I took pity on Richard and we removed the tape from his wrists and ankles
. He barely stirred, seemed unwell. Adrienne was rubbing his hands, whispering to him.

  Footsteps came into the hallway. I froze. They sounded very close. That meant the air hole might be somewhere in the main hall. But where? I heard voices but couldn’t recognize them. It could have been anyone.

  Then I heard a voice clearly.

  “Jordan?” It was loud. Very loud. He was shouting. “Are you here? Where the hell are you?”

  It was James.

  I shouted. “James, we’re here. In the priest’s hole.”

  He didn’t hear me. Couldn’t hear me because he was still shouting. He might go upstairs or outside if he didn’t hear anything. I panicked.

  “Give me something, anything,” I croaked to Adrienne. “What can I put up the air hole?”

  “How about my shoe?”

  It was a slim, high-heeled, strappy thing and went through the hole like a dream. My trainers would have stuck halfway. I pushed it into the glimmer of light, waggled it about in a demented fashion. I was desperate that James should not leave.

  “James, James,” I shrieked.

  Suddenly the heel of the shoe was grasped tight. I couldn’t move it. The shoe was gripped in a vice.

  “Jordan, are you there? Is that you? It’s James. Tell me where you are.”

  I nearly folded up with relief. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My voice was unrecognizable. It was a croak, disappeared somewhere. Adrienne spoke for me, high-pitched and trembling.

  “We’re in the priest’s hole. Water, please. We all need water. Water, water. Whoever you are.”

  The shoe was released and I heard hurried orders and activity.

  “Bottle coming down now,” said another voice. “Catch it.”

  I caught the bottle, wrenched off the cap. I had drunk half the bottle before I thought of sharing it with Adrienne and Richard.

  “More water,” said Adrienne. “We need more.”

  “Tell me where you are.” This was James again.

  I dragged myself up to the air hole. “We’re in the priest’s hole,” I croaked. “It’s in the study. Go to the end of the hall, then down three steps. Move the big filing cabinet that’s against the wall. We’re behind it.”

  “Are you all right, Jordan?”

  “A bit squashed. There’s three of us.”

  It was easier said than done. More bottles of mineral water were passed down the hole. We heard the filing cabinet being moved away but no one knew how to open the panel.

  James came back to me. I could feel the concern in his voice, hear his breathing. Adrienne was sniffing weakly.

  “We can’t open it, Jordan. What did you see? Did you see how it was opened?”

  “It was the chauffeur, Wilkes. He pressed on the top left-hand corner of the panel, went further upwards and then sideways. That’s all I could see.”

  Now I needed a bathroom. How stupid could one get? No hanging bravely on when nature is pressing on one’s bladder. I wondered how long I could last. Both Adrienne and Richard were in a bad way. They were breathing erratically, not talking, lying against each other in a sort of heap of despair.

  “You’ve got to hurry,” I shouted. “There are two sick people here. We can’t last out much longer.”

  They couldn’t make the mechanism work. I began patting Adrienne and talking to her. “Hold on, try to relax. They’re getting through. It won’t be long now. We’re safe, nearly safe. It’s the police. The police are here, trying to get us out.”

  I didn’t know how much longer I could hang on. Adrienne and Richard had drifted into a semiconscious state. There was only me now to guide the voices. And even I was losing the will.

  Then I heard the sound of an electric saw and drew my knees up to my chin. It was sacrilege, destroying priceless paneling. The medieval mechanism was irreplaceable. But it had to go. It was the only way out.

  The sawdust flying in was making me choke. I couldn’t stop coughing. The air was full of it. I kept sipping water but it didn’t help. Then suddenly the panel was wrenched away and there seemed like crowds of people trying to pull me out, none too gently. I couldn’t stand up. My knees did not belong to me. I was coughing and choking, red crab-like claws clutching at my airways.

  “Ambulance,” I gasped weakly. “Two people in there…”

  “It’s on its way,” said James. “Someone take Jordan outside,” he shouted. “She needs air. I’ll get the others out.”

  Some burly uniformed policeman practically carried me outside. The icy night air rushed to greet me. The twinkling sky had never looked so good or the garden smelt so sweet. It had been raining and leaves were shedding droplets on to my face.

  “Will you be all right now, if I leave you, miss?”

  I nodded.

  I crawled behind a bush. It was already wet, but I didn’t much care.

  When I went back into the study, both Adrienne and Richard were on the floor, wrapped in blankets, being attended by women paramedics in green uniforms. One was fixing a saline drip into Richard’s arm. Adrienne and Richard both had oxygen masks over their faces.

  Adrienne was the woman I had seen in Miguel’s restaurant, but not looking quite so smart now. She was disheveled and dirty, her make-up distorted with tears and anguish. She struggled to sit up when she saw me and wrenched off the oxygen mask.

  “Jordan, Jordan. You did it. You did it. I don’t know how but you did. How can we ever thank you… I thought we were going to die.”

  I knelt down awkwardly beside her and she flung her arms round me. I was smothered in her perfume. Was it Joy?

  “So did I, several times,” I said. “I didn’t know if it was going to work.”

  “What was going to work?”

  “There was a tracking bug somewhere on my jacket. I was hoping that someone would notice that it was moving in a regular pattern after three days on a hanger.”

  “Ah, a bug.” She understood that part, but not the hanger bit.

  “James put it on my jacket without me noticing, then he told me, which was lucky. So I hoped it was still working. But I daren’t take the jacket off in case I dislodged it.”

  I knew the explanation was garbled but it was the best I could do. A WPO was coming into the study with a tray laden with mugs of Holly’s best Earl Gray and a carton of milk. James brought over two mugs and handed them to us. It tasted good even without honey.

  “Who was it, Jordan? Who did this?” he asked.

  “Wilkes, the chauffeur. He brought me here, saying you were here too. Otherwise I would never have come. It was all a con. He tied me up and pushed me into the priest’s hole. But I’ve got a button off his blazer if you want proof it was him. Adrienne and Richard were already in there, trussed up.”

  “We shall need statements from all of you. How long do you think you were in there, Mrs Russell?”

  “I don’t know. It was Brian Wilkes, the same. Said we had to meet someone special. I didn’t understand it. He was so rough and ruthless and Richard has always been so good to him. There was no reason for it. Oh, it seemed like hours. It was some time before Jordan was pushed in. But thank goodness, she saved us.” Adrienne was overcome with emotion again. “She’s wonderful, just wonderful.”

  “Yes, sometimes she’s wonderful,” said James.

  There was the tiniest glimmer of sarcasm in those words. He could not help himself. He heaved himself back on his crutches, not looking at me. He was on his phone. “Brian Wilkes, chauffeur, ex-army. Have we got anything on him? He’ll be driving a red Daimler, don’t know the registration number.”

  “RCB 1,” I said. “And it’s maroon, not red.”

  “Thank you, Miss Lacey,” he said. This time not disguising the sarcasm. “As observant as always.”

  The paramedic came over to James. “Mr Broughton needs to be taken to hospital. He’s had a blow to the head, nothing serious. He’s conscious but it needs looking at.” They were wheeling in one of those chair-style stretchers and lifting Richard
on to it, wrapping him in blankets. I caught sight of what I could see of his face, with the mask on.

  “That’s not Richard Broughton,” I said.

  It was the receding hairline, the heavier body, a face that had once been handsome but was now ageing. The eyebrows were still dark and bushy, but his hair was almost white.

  I went over and looked at him. “No, that’s definitely not Richard Broughton.”

  He was murmuring something. It sounded like “Poor Holly, my poor, poor Holly…”

  Adrienne was getting on to her feet, none too steady, ready to go with Richard in the ambulance, looking for her handbag, and talking to me at the same time.

  “Of course that’s Richard,” she said briskly. She was recovering from the ordeal. “I ought to know. I was married to the man for ten years.”

  “Perhaps you should come to the hospital as well,” said the woman paramedic, looking at me sideways. “Your asthma should be checked out.”

  “I’ll bring Jordan,” said James. “She has an aversion to hospitals. We’ll follow the ambulance.”

  Adrienne had found her handbag and was shakily repairing her face as best she could in a small mirror. She picked up the briefcase that was in the hall.

  “This is Richard’s,” she explained. She still had the blanket round her shoulders but now it managed to look like an elegant wrap. She gave me another big hug. “Don’t worry, easy mistake to make after all the trauma you’ve been through, Jordan. Come and see me very soon. I’ve got a lovely coffee shop in Brighton. It’s called the Pink Geranium. We’d love to see you any time.”

  “I will,” I said. “I’ll come and see you.” I wanted to ask her about the musical-clef brooch but this was not the time. There must be an explanation. Perhaps Richard had bought two.

  She followed Richard into the ambulance and sat on a pull-down seat beside him. She leaned forward and gave me a wave as the doors closed. The ambulance pulled away, driving slowly down the drive.

  “The Pink Geranium,” said James. “That’s a coffee shop, mainly for gays and lesbians. Very popular, I hear. Always busy and crowded.”