Then she slammed the receiver down and took George by the arm, gesturing to Ursula to follow. Then she closed the kitchen door.
‘Pop the kettle on please, Ursula, and see if you can find any cake. I think we all deserve it, don’t you?’
‘She was so mad at me.’
‘She was wrong. Look, George, the headmistress called me today, said if you wanted to come home could I fetch you and she told me what happened. What’s been happening. You’ve done everything you can to help your friend and you don’t deserve that kind of abuse. Understand?’
He nodded, unconvinced. ‘I thought she liked me,’ he said. Then: ‘Sorry, that sounds pathetic.’
‘No, it doesn’t. And I’m sure when she’s got time to think and Paul is better, I’m sure she’ll be really ashamed of what she said to you.’
‘It’s easier to blame kids,’ Ursula said and George was shocked to hear the bitterness in her voice. ‘Kids can’t fight back.’
Stan was liking things less and less. The girl with red hair had been brought aboard just as it was getting dark, and Coran told him it was Duggan’s daughter.
‘What does he want her for? Christ sake, Coran, the coastguard’s been up and down this bit of coast like a swarm of bloody flies all afternoon. Why bring her here? He losing it or what?’
Coran did not immediately reply. The boat was moving out into deeper water, Stan could feel the pull of the waves against the bow as it turned, the dinghy tied up by the steps at the stern clipping and dragging. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What’s his game now and why haven’t we sent the kids back yet? Every day increases the risk, you know that.’
‘You losing your nerve, Stan?’ Coran said, but Stan could see it in his eyes, he was less sure of himself now. Things were not happening in the expected order.
What game was Coran playing? Stan wondered. It was obvious now that Coran had his own agenda and Stan had been willing to wait him out but now, well he wasn’t so sure that Coran understood the rules any more than Stan did.
‘When do we send the kids back?’
Coran shrugged. ‘Should have happened by now,’ he admitted.
‘Haven’t the parents raised the cash?’
‘It isn’t a matter of that. You saw the house, where would they get the kind of money he wants. The dad’s supposed to be doing something for him. I don’t know what. I was supposed to be told but, I don’t know …’
‘He stopped trusting you, maybe? Find out you’re planning on crossing him?’
Coran was scathing. ‘He thought that and we’d both be dead. I recruited you, remember. You think he’d believe you’re not involved too?’
‘Involved in what?’
Coran shook his head. ‘Look,’ he said finally. ‘There was this bloke called Randall, eighteen months or so ago. He’s a weird bugger. Weird as Haines and then some, I reckon. He cut me this deal, see. Wants to take Haines down because of what he did to his son. Randall found a way of following the money. Don’t ask me how. Not my thing, but he got on to Goldman, the twins’ dad. I don’t know what Haines has on him but it’s enough to make him dance to any tune the boss wants to sing. Goldman’s between a rock and a hard place. Randall and Haines. Randall was supposed to have got the kids out, and Goldman was meant to divert the money his way. That’s all I know.’
‘So, what’s the delay?’
Coran shrugged. ‘Like I told you, that’s all I know. Randall let something slip about a deal that Haines wants to be a part of, something happening on the stock market, I don’t know. Reckons he could make a killing if he got the right information. He figures Haines would have worked that out too. I don’t know. It started out that Randall just wanted revenge for what Haines did to his kid, then it was like it all changed. Like that didn’t matter any more. It’s almost like his kid was just property; like Haines ripped him off on a deal and now he wants to get back at Haines for stiffing him on a deal.’ He shrugged again. ‘Look, it’s not like we’re dealing with normal people here, is it? You could never accuse Haines of that and I just figure Randall’s the same.’
Stan absorbed that. He wasn’t sure he and Coran could be classified as normal either but he was pretty sure he’d count any child of his higher than any amount of cash.
‘And Goldman, the money man, he’s the one giving them the information?’
‘Something like that, all I know is bits I’ve picked up. Haines is only “need to know”, Randall’s the same.’
‘And the kids are stuffed either way.’
‘The kids won’t get hurt.’
‘You believe that? Then you’ve lost what brains you had, Coran. And what about the girl?’
Coran shrugged. ‘I guess her dad’s making too many waves,’ he said. ‘Maybe he’s got to run out of kids before he takes notice.’
Twenty-One
Mac and Kendal arrived at Randall’s farm as darkness was closing in across the countryside. Floodlights greeted them as they arrived at the head of the drive and pulled up at the gate. Mac got out and announced them and the gates swung wide.
Randall waited for them at the open door. ‘Gentlemen, what can I do for you?’ he examined the ID. ‘Two inspectors. I must be important.’
‘May we come inside? It’s a bitter night.’
‘Oh, I don’t really feel the cold. Say what you have to say.’
Kendal fumed.
‘I believe you know a James Duggan,’ Mac said.
‘James Duggan? Yes, I believe I do. Why?’
‘He was killed tonight. His car was hit by a lorry.’
‘Really? Oh, that’s sad. I understand he had family.’
‘He was on his way to see me when it happened,’ Mac continued, trying hard not to feel provoked by Randall’s tone. ‘He said he had some information to give me. It concerned you.’
‘Really? And did he say what? Was it anything important?’ Randall spread his hands wide. ‘Obviously not, since you’ve not come with a warrant to search.’
‘Should I get one?’ Mac asked. ‘What would I find?’
‘What would you be looking for? I live a quiet life here, few visitors and, these days, few intrusions from the outside world.’
‘And does the quiet life suit your family? Your wife and son?’ Kendal asked him.
‘Oh, my wife is away, visiting her mother. Our son is with her. So, Inspector, what else do you want to know? Did Mr Duggan hint at what it was he had to tell?’
Mac was truly irritated now. Rina had warned him that the man was a slime ball and now he agreed with her estimation.
‘According to information received,’ he said, ‘about eighteen months ago your son was abducted. You paid a ransom and he was returned, but for a man like you: rich, used to getting his own way, I can understand how all of that must have rankled. In fact, I’d go as far as saying it enraged you. You talked to James Duggan, involved him, searched for this abductor and I believe you know who he is.’
‘If that were true, Inspector, would I not have passed that information on to the authorities?’
‘A reasonable person might. A normal man would be helping us to find Travis Haines. Duggan wanted to do just that. He was coming to me to tell me what he knew.’
‘Oh, Inspector, what makes you believe I’d trust Duggan with anything, even if there was anything to tell? The man was a fool.’
‘He knew you were only telling him part of the story.’ Mac was guessing now. ‘He sent a friend to you a few days ago, hoping, perhaps, that you’d tell her more. Maybe see her as less of a fool.’
‘And that would be? Oh, the redoubtable Mrs Martin, I suppose. Yes, she turned up here with some story about Duggan’s son being kidnapped twice. I told her it was nonsense.’
‘Mr Randall, I don’t think you did.’
Randall shrugged. ‘Her word or mine, Inspector? I think, if you stop and analyse, you might realize that this sounds like some overblown tabloid tale. I know nothing about this Haines man. I understood that Duggan’s son was a tr
oubled soul who took drugs and that his father couldn’t come to terms with that, so he fantasized, cast his child as the victim. And as for Mrs Martin and that magician friend of hers. Well, Inspector, a widowed lady who runs a menagerie of a guest house and her strange friend who’s never held down a proper job. Can you imagine how they’d stand up to cross examination?’
‘Mr Randall …’ Mac began again but Randall was closing the door.
‘Good night, Inspectors, pleasant dreams.’
Reluctantly, angrily, Mac stalked back to the car, Kendal a step behind.
‘Well, that went well,’ Kendal said.
‘Oh, we should have thought it through better,’ Mac said. ‘What did we expect him to say? Think we can get a warrant?’
‘On what grounds?’ Kendal sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do. As it is, we’ve got an RTA and a lot of rumours. Mac, how reliable is this Rina Martin? What Randall was saying, any of it true?’
Mac smiled. ‘From his perspective, all of it,’ he said. ‘And none of it. You underestimate Rina at your peril and I’d trust her word and her memory above just about anyone’s. Randall overplayed his hand by telling her anything. Thought he was being clever. Rina reckons he was showboating, showing how much he’d achieved. When she didn’t applaud he threw a strop. Now he’s decided she wasn’t worth his time.’
‘Lucky her,’ Kendal said sarcastically.
‘I do hope so,’ Mac said. ‘I hope he keeps with that decision, for Rina’s sake.’
Twenty-Two
The first indicator Stan had that something new was wrong was the sound of shouting and raving coming from Haines’s cabin. Moments later Coran came storming out.
‘What the hell?’
‘Duggan’s dead,’ he said.
‘How?’
‘Car accident it looks like, but Haines is sure it’s something more.’
‘What do you think?’
Coran shrugged. ‘I think the girl’s as good as dead. Duggan’s gone, apparently the mother and other son are in the wind. He is not a happy man and guess who’s going to catch the flak?’
‘You can’t let him.’
‘You see me stopping him? Me and whose army? You may not have noticed but me and thee are not the only ones aboard and I don’t see anyone else prepared to jump in.’
‘We could take them.’
Coran laughed. ‘Once upon a time, maybe. You looked at yourself in the mirror lately. Lines, grey hair. Well, there would be if you had any of it left.’
The commotion in the cabin began again. Coran left and Stan knew that it was now or never. Coran, the boss and two others were in the main saloon. Two more Stan had seen playing cards in one of the smaller aft cabins. The girl was in the other. That left two others on deck that he’d have to deal with when he got there.
He put on his coat, checked his pockets. Wished he was better armed.
Stan took the waste-paper bin from beside his bed, topped up the fag ends and sweet wrappers with shredded newspaper, struck a match and coaxed the whole into flame. The curtains caught quickly, he threw his bed quilt on to the fire, stood back and watched it burn. Once well alight, he took it out, spread it in front of the saloon door. The carpet caught quickly, was fully alight by the time he reached the aft cabin door.
The girl lay on the bed, fully clothed, bound hand and foot and gagged with tape. She tried to scream behind the tape, kicked out at him, her bound feet catching his in the chest as he bent over her.
Stan didn’t have time for finesse. He grabbed the girl and socked her on the jaw, hoping that he hadn’t hit her too hard. She fell back, unconscious and he scooped her up and slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder. He hoped Coran’s jibes were wrong and he was still up to this.
Outside the cabin there was a commotion as those inside the saloon tried to escape the smoke and the others helped to fight the flames. Stan knew he’d just have to go now, take his chance. Take chances for both of them. He’d reached the top of the steps before the alarm was raised.
The crewman came at him and Stan swung a roundhouse punch that found the man’s jaw more by luck than any judgement on Stan’s part. The girl’s weight on his shoulder unbalanced him, slowed him down, but he turned and ran anyway, knowing he had only seconds spare to reach the stern and the dinghy tied up beside the steps. There were shouts from behind him. Coran’s voice now, telling him that they were out of the cabin, the fire no longer slowing them down.
He half ran, half slid down the gangway, dropping the girl into the bottom of the boat. Each boat carried a locker for essential equipment and a tarpaulin, used when they carried equipment to and from shore. Quickly, he threw the tarpaulin over the unconscious girl. Dressed for town weather her little cream raincoat was no match for the chill of an early March night out in the middle of the bloody ocean. He took a deep breath, started the outboard, heard the shout from the deck. Reaching out, he cut the mooring rope and then the second, nudging the second dinghy out into the boat’s wake.
A shot rang out, pinging off the handrail. Stan ducked. A second shot. The girl was still out cold. He thanked the Lord for small mercies. If she woke up and threw a hissy fit, they were both done for.
More shots as the little boat surged away. Stan ducked low. He heard Coran shout, telling them to cease fire. The wind was still strong and the noise might not carry but the flash might be seen and someone might recognize it for what it was. He could guess at the continued chaos aboard as they brought the fire under control, but it wouldn’t take long. Stan needed something else to slow things down.
In the small locker of the dinghy was a flare gun. It wasn’t easy to launch the flare while he tried to steer the rocking dinghy and keep an eye on the boat, making sure no bigger weaponry was being brought to bear. He didn’t think Coran would risk that, but Haines might. It caused a shudder to go through him thinking of Haines, mad as hell and twice as crazy.
Stan fired the flare gun, then throttled up and sped away. The sky was illuminated, the Spirit of Unity highlighted in all her glory. If that didn’t attract unwanted attention, he didn’t know what would. He prayed it would be enough.
Stan looked towards the shore, trying hard to get his bearings. Headed towards what he hoped were the lights of Frantham, the hotel was set back too far for him to see any illumination and most of the houses were in darkness now. He looked hard, trying to see the one he had noticed time and time again, whose attic lights burned far into the night and the one he now knew to be Hill House, which left what must be a hall light on all night.
‘Right, lass, here we go,’ he said. He was cold despite his heavy coat. He recognized the chill for what it was. The adrenalin surge was ending and he was coming down from that initial high. Keeping the lights of Frantham to starboard and the lamplight coming from the cliff-top residence to port, he headed in for shore. Anyone on board the boat would guess where he was heading but that couldn’t be helped now, they’d lost their other dinghy and the large craft couldn’t come in this far, the draft was too shallow and the rocks too sharp.
The girl had begun to move. Stan hoped she would not come round, not fully anyway, until he’d made it to the cliff. He couldn’t control her and keep the boat headed in a straight line. He’d get her to the cave, then have a think about his next move.
He calculated if Haines turned the boat right now and headed in, then the closest point would be the marina in the old town but he doubted the crew would want to risk that at night. The entrance to the river mouth that formed the newly dredged harbour was narrow and the draft only just deep enough for the Spirit. No, most likely they’d head up the coast to Bridport. Then he’d have to get men up to the cliff top.
Stan reckoned that at least he’d have an hour to persuade the girl he wasn’t going to kill her, get her to cooperate enough not to be a damned pain in the backside and put distance between themselves and any pursuit. If the coastguard intervened, as he hoped they would, then he’d have much longer but he wasn’
t going to count on it.
Not long then. He sighed. Failing persuasion, he might just have to hit her again, but that might lose him a bit of credibility when he tried to tell her that he was a friend and not her would-be murderer.
Deciding that he’d just have to face his problems one at a time as they came about, Stan cut the engine, grabbed the oars and eased the little craft the last few yards into shore.
On board the Spirit of Unity the fire had been put out and Haines’s men regrouped. Haines was roaring angry and Coran the object of most of his rage. Coran took the abuse without comment, then turned on his heel and walked away. He wasn’t unduly concerned. Haines still needed him; that would keep him alive for now. And besides, Haines was right, in a way, he had been the one to recruit Stan. He thought about his earlier comments about Stan being too old and grey and he almost laughed out loud. Not so old after all. He wished him well knowing he’d need all the luck he could get. Haines was out for blood now.
Coran? Well, Coran was about to cut his losses and walk, soon as there was solid ground to put his feet on.
Nice touch with the flare, he thought as he entered the wheelhouse. The skipper was on the radio. ‘Coastguard,’ he mouthed at Coran who nodded.
‘Tell them we had a fire, a passenger panicked, but it’s all under control.’
The skipper shrugged ruefully. He was doing his best but the authorities weren’t having any of it.
Giving in to the inevitable, Coran left him to it and went to prepare.
Stan hitched the rope to a rock just inside the cave mouth. He scrambled ashore and then hauled the little boat as far up inside the cave mouth as he could. The girl was conscious now but still groggy. Stan hauled her from the boat and groped for his knife and tiny flashlight, glad of the habit that kept both in his pocket.
In the pale light, Joy stared at him, eyes wide and scared. He could see the bruise on her chin had darkened and that her skin was very pale.
‘Sorry I hit you, love,’ he offered, ‘but I had to act fast, you understand? I didn’t have time for explanation.’
Fragile Lives Page 15