Stella shook her head. “I was wondering the same thing. It’s been going through my head all night. I just have absolutely no idea.”
“What about this Cronin bloke? Maybe it’s got something to do with him?”
“Don’t be silly. He’s a priest.”
“So you say,” said Jennings. “But how much do you really know about him? I mean, he’s just suddenly turned up in your life and befriended you. You don’t know what his motives are.”
Stella tutted. “You’re so suspicious of people. He’s just a priest who’s helping someone out. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe he was sent to help me. He’s certainly not expecting anything in return.”
Jennings wondered if this was a pointed comment, but decided that he was being paranoid and ignored it. “No, of course not,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m just naturally suspicious. But if our situations were reversed then you’d be saying the same thing. As a rule you’re just as untrusting as I am.”
“Good point,” she laughed in agreement. “But you should know by now that I’m not stupid. If there was something suspicious about him then I would have sensed it.”
“I know,” said Jennings. “I shall defer to your judgement.” He dropped the subject and continued to eat, even though he still had misgivings.
After they had both finished Stella lit up a cigarette. Jennings gulped down the last of his tea and sat back in his chair. His stomach weighed heavily and started to send messages of sleep to his brain. He shook his head and opened his eyes.
“Sorry,” said Stella. “You must be knackered. You can have a kip on my bed if you want.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be alright. I’m back on days tomorrow, and if I sleep now I’ll never get my head down later.”
“That’s a bit of a quick turnaround.”
“Yes it is,” yawned Jennings. “But everything seems up in the air at the moment. Last week’s put us all out of kilter. It seems like a perpetual state of emergency.”
Stella finished her cigarette and cleared the plates. Jennings moved to the sofa and switched on the TV. His head started to nod. Voices from the television began to mingle with those in his own mind, so much so that he became disoriented. He floated into a comfortable blanket of unconsciousness. Then someone was calling his name, over and over. It was a male voice and it sounded distant. It echoed though his body. Then he saw a brief image.
“Jennings…Jennings,” said a soft voice.
Jennings twitched and opened his eyes. Stella was sitting in the armchair to his left calling his name.
“Sorry,” he said. “I must have drifted off.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Stella. “You’re quite welcome. I was just going to ask if you wanted some more tea. I was just going to do one for myself.”
Jennings sat up straight. “Yes, I think I’d better if I want to keep awake.”
Stella went to make the teas. Jennings stared aimlessly at the television. He wondered what was going on. For the second time that morning Stratton had come to him.
Chapter 24
The rain continued to hammer down as it had done for most of the day. Over the high, slatted fence of 27 Bletchingdon Avenue, Greenwich, Kamal slipped noiselessly into the back garden. He was dressed in black with a balaclava covering his face. After staking the street all morning he had come to the conclusion that the close neigh-bours were not in, and it would be safe to enter without being noticed. He gave one last furtive look to the adjoining houses and crept to the back door.
There had been no sign of movement in the house, but that didn’t mean that nobody was in. The kidnappers of Annie’s son would not have left the place unguarded or unwatched, he thought.
The lock was a simple Chubb and he wasted no time in picking it. Opening the door slowly, he peered into the kitchen. A pile of dirty dishes sat next to the sink, and there was a casserole dish on top of the hob. There was no sign of life. He removed his gun from his waistband, sidled in, and closed the door behind him.
With his gun at the ready he left the kitchen and entered the hallway. Everything seemed to be in place. The living room was the same – there were no outward signs of a struggle. He looked out of the front window to see if he was being watched, but the street was quiet and apparently empty.
With an increasing sense of foreboding he climbed the stairs. The house and the street were uncomfortably silent. He didn’t like it at all. His body tensed as one of the stairs creaked underneath him. He looked around the landing but nobody was there.
There were four doors upstairs and he checked each one in turn. The first was the bathroom and it was clear. The second was obviously a child’s room, with Toy Story wallpaper and a racing-car bed. The third was a junk room, with boxes of bric-a-brac and bin liners full of clothes.
As he stood outside the last door, unease began to swallow him. Unlike the others, which had been fully open, this one was only slightly ajar. All he could make out was the edge of a bed. There was no way of knowing what else was in there. His only option was to assume the worst.
Quickly, and instinctively, he kicked open the door and forward-rolled for cover at the side of the bed. He heard a whistle and a small thud as something hit the mattress. In one swift movement he broke out of his roll and turned around on his knees to face the door. He fired twice, rapidly, hitting the man once in each shoulder. The man dropped his gun and slid to the ground.
Kamal got up and returned the Browning to his waistband. He walked over to the man and knelt beside him. He was still alive but his breathing was laboured.
“Where is the boy?” asked Kamal.
The man stared blankly at his hooded attacker and said nothing.
“Where is the boy?” Kamal repeated, this time with more urgency.
The man shook his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
Kamal punched one of the wounds with a sharp accuracy. The man howled with pain.
“Listen,” said Kamal with authority. “It is not wise to fuck about with me. All I want is the whereabouts of the boy. Tell me, and you live.”
The man smiled and shook his head again.
Kamal rifled through his pockets but found nothing except a mobile phone. He checked the log and found that a call had been made five minutes before. Chances were that someone else had been alerted to his presence. It was time to leave. There was no need to kill the man, he hadn’t seen his face.
Kamal slipped the mobile phone into his trouser pocket. “I want the boy,” he said, and left.
Back at the motel Annie was still gagged and bound. Kamal had left the TV on for her, but it was all that she could do to concentrate. With every hour that passed she became more and more troubled. There was no way of knowing whether her son, David, was still alive. In her heart she felt that he was, but at the same time she doubted her instincts, and wondered if perhaps it was just wishful thinking. She was, however, grateful to be alive herself. For whatever reason Kamal’s pistol had jammed once more, and in that instant everything had changed.
Kamal returned at 4pm. His face was grave. Annie feared the worst. He removed the gag from her mouth and untied her hands.
“What happened?” she asked solicitously. “Did you find anything? Do you know where he is?”
Kamal shook his head. “No, I do not know where he is.”
“What about my mum? Was she at the house?”
Kamal laid his gun down on the table. “No,” he said. “But I didn’t expect her to be. She would have been taken at the same time as the boy.”
“So we’re no further on then?” she said dejectedly.
He got a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat down on his bed. He took a deep draught, then said: “There is one thing. I have this.” He produced the phone from his pocket. “It belongs to a man I found at the house. I suspect that the last number he dialled will lead us to the kidnappers.”
Forgetting her injury Annie leapt off the bed. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for? Let�
��s ring it and get David and my mum back.”
“It may not be as simple as that,” said Kamal.
“Why not?” said Annie. “They’ve got no reason to hold them anymore have they? I tried to do my bit. I can’t do anything more for them can I?”
“No. But the situation has now got out of hand. If I’m reading it correctly, then these men probably posed as policemen to your mother…”
“What do you mean ‘posed as policemen’?” Annie interjected. “They were policemen – they were Special Branch.”
“That is open to debate,” said Kamal. “False identifications are easy to come by in this day and age. It suited their purpose to look like Special Branch. Anyway, this is beside the point. Once they had gained your mother’s confidence they would have come up with some story about her and your son being in danger, and taken her to a ‘safe house’.”
“My mum wouldn’t leave the house,” Annie protested.
“Really,” said Kamal raising an eyebrow. “You would be surprised what people will go along with if you catch them off guard. A police badge is a very persuasive tool. These men would have been very convincing. After all, you were taken in.”
“I was not taken in,” Annie said flatly.
Kamal ignored her and continued. “Anyway, had you carried out your task successfully then your mother and son would have been returned none the wiser, and you would have been bought off with a bit of money, and forced to sign some phoney Official Secrets Act. And that would have been the end of it. But now they have two problems: I am very much alive and you know that they are not real police. We are at an impasse.”
“Maybe,” said Annie, “but if this theory of yours is right, why don’t we just call the real police?”
“What do you think would happen?” he asked. “What would you say to them? That you had tried to kill a man?”
“I’d say anything, and go to prison if it meant David and my mum were safe,” she said emphatically.
Kamal smiled kindly. “Yes, I know you would. The problem is, if you go to the police, then I suspect the kidnappers will have no choice but to get rid of their captives. And by that, I mean kill them. But all the same, it is your decision. If you go to the police I cannot help you any longer. I will have to leave the country.”
“Do you really think that they’d kill them?”
“Yes, I do. Look at it this way – it would be far easier for me to let you go to the police. I could disappear back to India and retire quite comfortably. So it in no way benefits me to stop you going. I only do so because I am of the firm opinion that it is not a good option. Do you understand?”
Annie nodded. “Yes. But what are we going to do?”
“Like I said – we are at an impasse. It is catch-22 as they say. They cannot kill your son and mother because you will go the police. And you cannot go to the police because they will kill your son and mother. We must find a way to break the deadlock.”
Chapter 25
Two men sat in an office. The one behind the desk wore a dark blue suit. The one in front wore a grey one. They both wore grim faces. Blue Suit left his chair and gazed out of the window. He lit a cigarette.
“What the hell is going on here?!” he barked. “It was a simple bloody task. All you had to do was kill the man. You knew where he was. Surely you could have come up with something better than sending a girl in?”
“But this wasn’t just any girl sir. Do you recognize the name Tracy Tressel?”
“Yes, vaguely.” He thought for a moment. “Of course. Wasn’t she the young girl who…”
“Exactly,” said Grey Suit. “So you can see why I thought her capable.”
Blue Suit continued to stare out of the window. “Perhaps. But it was still an almighty fuck up!”
Grey Suit shuffled nervously in his chair. “I appreciate your anger sir. But this guy is the best. He checks everything. If anything had deviated from the norm then he would have sussed it.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Don’t give me that. Aren’t you supposed to be one of the best?”
“Yes sir, I am. And I took the decision. You have to look at it from my point of view though. We only tracked the guy down on Sunday; he was leaving on Monday so we had to act quickly. Sending one of our boys up there would have been too dangerous. The girl had been taking his food all week, she was the only person who had access to him. It was simple: girl goes in; he turns his back; she sticks the patch on him; he drops dead. No mess, no fuss, no noise, no witnesses, no evidence. At the time it seemed like a good plan. In fact, it was a good plan, but she fucked it up – she probably wasn’t that good an actress.” He paused. “Of course, if we’d just paid the man.”
Blue Suit turned back round and slammed the desk. “It wasn’t an option! I didn’t have it for a start. And secondly, we needed to get rid of him. We need to sever any links to us.” He stubbed out his cigarette and sat back down. “Anyway, that’s all in the past. What are we going to do now? The whole thing’s getting out of hand.”
“I know. There’s only one way to contain the situation, and that’s to get rid of them all: him and the girl, and her mother and son.”
Blue Suit nodded his approval. “You’re right,” he said. “But how? If you get rid of the mother and son she will have nothing to lose, she will go to the police.”
“I know,” replied Grey Suit. “So we have to get them all at the same time. As long as the mother and son are alive we have bargaining tools. All we need to do is draw him and the girl out of hiding. We have to put the captives up as bait.”
“And what makes you think that he’s going to bother? Why doesn’t he just leave the country?”
“Because this afternoon, when he shot Gary, he said he wanted the boy. I don’t know why, but he seems to have taken a personal interest in the situation. If we give him an opportunity to get the woman and the boy back then I think he’ll take it.”
Blue Suit looked doubtful. “What? You mean lay a trap? You said he was the best – won’t he smell it a mile away?”
“Probably. But his options are limited. We’ll make it so that he has to take the chance.”
“But he’s gone to ground now. How will you contact him?”
“We won’t have to,” said Grey Suit. “He’s got Gary’s phone. He’ll contact us.”
Chapter 26
The Hefty Hare was an up-market restaurant that had recently opened just down the road from Stella’s flat. It was, according to the Evening Standard, a ‘divine combination of neogastronomy and retro-cuisine’. Jennings sat looking at his paltry starter of scallop, pancetta and pea puree, and decided that it was a specious mixture of overpricing and tight portioning.
“That looks nice,” said Stella.
“Yes, it does,” he agreed. “I just hope I’ll be able to manage it all.”
“There’s no need to be like that,” she said. “Just enjoy it.”
Jennings took a mouthful and had to concede that it was quite superb. He sipped at his Chablis and relaxed. Although he loved food and cooking, he was always wary of ‘fine-dining experiences’ and ‘nouvelle-cuisine’. He found that most of the time it was ‘emperor’s new clothes’ syndrome – people were told it was good, so they believed it was – and that the food rarely justified the high price tag that accompanied it. But this time he was more than happy, and besides, Stella was picking up the bill.
Stella finished her clam chowder with soda bread and took a sip of wine. “That was lovely,” she said. “I could eat it over again.”
Jennings was going to say “not at these prices”, but held his tongue. Instead he said: “Yeah, I have to admit, the food is exceptional. It’s really nice of you to treat me.”
“Well, I thought you deserved it. You’ve been putting up with me and my miserable moods for ages. I just wanted to say thank you.”
Jennings smiled at her. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot. I’m just glad I’ve been some help.”
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The waitress cleared their plates, and Stella stepped outside for a cigarette. Jennings took the opportunity to fill up on bread. He looked out of the window at Stella smoking and shivering in the street. She smiled back at him. She seemed happier than she had been for a long time. He was glad that at last her mood was lightening. Father Cronin, whatever his intentions, was having a good effect on her. The thunder clouds were beginning to lift.
Stella returned quickly. The cold of the night negating her desire for nicotine. Jennings watched her walk back to the table. She was dressed simply in a knee-length emerald green dress, with black court shoes, her shiny dark hair flowing over her shoulders. She looked stunning. He could see the other men in the restaurant sneaking surreptitious glances, trying not to get caught by their wives. He suspected that they envied him. Not that they had anything to be envious of, he thought ruefully.
“A bit cold out is it?” he said.
“Just a bit,” she replied. “I shouldn’t really have bothered. But smoking and food go together so well.”
“I guess they do, from what I can remember,” said Jennings. He took a sip of wine then added: “You seemed to draw some admiring glances as you walked back in.”
“That’s nice to know. To be honest, with all my recent lounging I feel like a bit of a frump. I even tried to go out running the other day. I collapsed after a mile.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry – you’re certainly not a frump. In fact you’re the opposite of frumpy. You’re…” His sentence tailed off in slight embarrassment. “Well, you look good, you know.”
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled.
Jennings waved the waitress and requested a bottle of claret to go with the main course. It arrived at the same time as the food. They had both ordered the Chateaubriand, served with a bone-marrow reduction. Jennings picked up a piece of steak with his fork and let it dissolve in his mouth. He washed it down with a sip of the claret and luxuriated in the moment.
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