Kidnap

by Philip McCutchan

  “Just came back up here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just like you an’ all. No guts. No application. Start a thing and drop it —”

  “— when it gets rough —”

  “I never. That’s not fair —”

  “You make me sick. What made you run out this time?”

  “I didn’t run out. I didn’t ring again ’cos it was much too risky, that’s why. Had to think of you, Ag. That Barnwell, he’d have had the Bill tapping the lines. Ring again and I’d have been picked up right away. It wasn’t safe, I tell you. Too chancy, much too chancy.” Mr Blundy looked up and met Ag’s eye. “Now what’s the matter?”

  “Matter? I’m speechless, mate! Words fail me, they do really.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Mr Blundy said, more aggrieved than ever. “I had to make a spot decision, like, and I made it. As it is, we’re safe. Barnwell hasn’t any idea where we are, and those that do know — that copper and the nurse, they don’t connect us with any kidnap. And your Aunt Ethel, she’s dead. It’s not that bad, why not look on the bright side?”

  *

  Mr Blundy turned it over and over when they’d gone up to bed after listening to a news summary that said the boy was still missing but made no reference to Mr Blundy’s telephone call. Of course, the Bill wouldn’t release that, still hoping to catch him when he rang again, good thing he’d been too crafty to risk that, whatever Ag might think.

  The wind was blowing again, battering at the bedroom window, still intent on blowing the cottage down. Mr Blundy crouched in the lee of the rock that was Ag, sheltering against the many and varied storms of life, but the rock was an uncomfortable one, and critical.

  “You got to try again, you have.”

  “No! I’ve said so a hundred times, Ag. I’m not risking it, I’m not.”

  “I’ll do it, then. No need even to go to London. I can phone from up here somewhere.”

  “Oh, God, no you don’t, Ag. I told you, they’ll have a tap on. For crying out loud, let’s keep one part of the country safe and in the clear. Look,” he added, trying to sound resolute. “The money’s gone, far as we’re concerned. We’ve had it, can’t you see? The Loop, he got it all wrong. That Barnwell’s the wrong sort after all.”

  “You say that after just one phone call?”

  “Yes, I do. I talked to him, didn’t I? Not you. He won’t shift an inch, I know that. And now the Bill, they’ll know for sure it’s a kidnap job. May have suspected it before, like, but now they’ll know it for a fact — and like as not they’ve got a tape of my bleeding voice an’ all.”

  “You’ve said all that,” Ag snapped.

  “Yes. ’Cos you keep making me, keeping on and on. Ask some new questions, you’ll get some new answers.”

  “All right, Ernest Blundy: what do we do with the kid now?”

  No answer to that one.

  *

  “So you’re back,” Harold said in the morning.

  “Never been away.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just been busy,” Mr Blundy said defensively. “Missed your feeding times, like, that’s why you haven’t seen me around.”

  “I don’t believe you, Blundy —”

  “Mr Blundy to you. Didn’t your mum and dad bring you up proper?”

  That was disregarded. “I mean, I don’t believe you’ve not been away. I bet you’ve been contacting my father. Haven’t you?”

  The question came out sharply and was accompanied by a keen look. Just like the Bill. The kid would make good Bill when he grew up.

  “Now what give you that idea?” Mr Blundy asked.

  “Don’t kidnappers usually do that?”

  Mr Blundy, to whom an idea had just come as though dropped from heaven, caught Ag’s eye as she stirred the porridge on the stove, hoping to convey a message. Rubbing his hands together he said, “Why, yes, they do, come to think of it. Eh, Ag?”

  Ag stared back at him but said nothing. She merely looked surprised and uncertain. Mr Blundy knew he should discuss this with her, but the idea and the moment had come up together and he felt he had to strike now. He said, “Never cottoned on, son, did you?”

  “Cottoned on to what precisely?”

  “Why, that we was joking.” Mr Blundy laughed, throatily, heartily, loudly and unconvincingly. “Cor! We never meant to get money from your dad. We never kidnapped you. Not really kidnapped.”

  Ag and the boy stared at Mr Blundy as though he had gone suddenly raving mad. Harold was the first to react. He asked, “What did you do, then?”

  “We just wanted to have a kid, son. That’s all. A little kid to have around and talk to, just like he was our own.” Mr Blundy gave a propagandic sniff. “Never had one of our own, see? Wanted to give you a good time. Be pals, like. Yack about motor racing, seeing as we’re both fans.”

  “About Nigel Mansell, I suppose.”

  “Yes. And Ayrton Senna.”

  “Now you’re just sucking up.”

  “No, I’m not. What I said, it’s the truth. Senna, he’s not too bad … not a patch on Nigel Mansell, though —”

  “Nigel Mansell couldn’t catch Ayrton Senna if he was fitted with jets.”

  Mr Blundy spoke mildly. “Now, son, don’t let’s argue, eh? Let’s start having that good time, why not? Spend a bit of time with us, like … then go home. That was the idea.”

  “A good time, in that earth closet?”

  Something, somewhere, hadn’t worked out. Harold Barnwell’s eyes had grown wide with wonder and more than wonder. He said in a superior tone, “You must be even stupider than I thought, Blundy, if you think I’m likely to believe that.”

  “I —”

  “And I’m not a little kid, thank you very much. I’m thirteen, in case you don’t know.”

  “Now look,” Mr Blundy started. “I’m —”

  “Now look nothing!” Ag snapped, waving a porridgy spoon. “You’re a bloody fool, so just shut up.”

  Mr Blundy’s shoulders sagged. “All right,” he said savagely, “I’m a bloody fool, now you have a go.”

  *

  He went and sat in the car, in the shelter of the barn, bitter and hopeless. It was no good, they were all washed-up now. Stuck with the kid, stuck with Auntie’s corpse, stuck in bloody Wensleydale until it all blew up in their faces and the Bill came in for the showdown. Over the wall, him and Ag both this time, and then try to start again when they were a good few years older, ten or fifteen years older. Yes, he was a bloody fool all right, a fool ever to have started this. It had been too big all along, though the Loop, with his professional expertise, had made it sound easy. Come to think of it, even the Loop had probably had a small enough opinion of his capabilities — he’d given him only the guard job to do, not the brains end of it. It was the brains end he couldn’t cope with, as had been proved beyond all doubt now. If only the Loop hadn’t been knocked off, it would all have been different.

  He was flummoxed.

  Get on the run with those two encumbrances? Where was the money to come from after Auntie’s nest-egg had gone? A little nicking here and there maybe. Dangerous, though. It would be too bad to go and get done for nicking a couple of quid from a till, or some tinned food from a supermarket, say, and then have all the rest come out. Ag would be no help either; she was still set on trying to raise the big money from the kid’s dad. Really set on that she was, argue argue it would be from now on. And in the end, though it affected his bowels horribly even to think about it, she would very likely wear him down.

  He’d been in the barn, champing his jaws and biting his nails down to the quick, for a good half-hour when Ag came out to find him.

  “So that’s where you are.”

  “So what? Can’t I —”

  “Been sulking, I s’pose.” She leaned in through the car window. “You said, you have a go. Meaning me. Well, I been thinking.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Try to sound more enthusiastic. Or at least ali
ve. We got to get out of here, Ern. We got to do that right away. There’s still a bit of time left before that district nurse comes back. Give us a start, that will —”

  “I don’t want to move, Ag. I feel safer here.”

  “Not come the end of the week you won’t. We can’t stall that girl —”

  “We can for a bit.”

  “But not for ever. Just once more perhaps, then she’s going to get suspicious and demand to see Auntie, who’s her patient, like. Oh, I know she said Auntie was wonderful and that, but these nurses, they keep an eye on old people, no good saying they don’t, ever so nosey. So we get out while the going’s good, and take the kid, and try again soon as we can.”

  “I’m not —”

  “No, you’re dead right you’re not. Made a right mess last time. But I am. I’m not leaving this without a good try, so you can just get used to the idea, see?”

  Mr Blundy swallowed hard and sighed. Let her think the way she wanted, it made life easier for the time being. He asked, “How about Aunt Ethel, then? Can’t take her along, not possibly.”

  “No, we can’t. I been thinking about her too. I’m against dumping her now I’ve thought more. That’d look like murder right away when she was found — and I reckon she would be, one day. Always are. They say you can’t hide a body for ever. Shepherds and that, up here. And dogs and things.”

  “Well, I’m right with you on that,” Mr Blundy said in heartfelt agreement, glad enough not to have to argue a point. “But what do we do, eh?”

  “Leave her where she is,” Ag said calmly.

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “It’s not daft. Not daft at all. We don’t want to panic. Remember, she died a natural death. That’s important.”

  “You said —”

  “I know what I said. But I also said I been thinking since. Leave the death as natural and they can’t do us for that, can they? Any jiggery-pokery, like, and we’re asking for it. Now, that’s sense. See, do you?”

  Mr Blundy scratched his head. “Up to a point, I see, yes. Still, doesn’t cover why you lied to the nurse — or why we didn’t report it as soon as it did happen, if you want to say she died after the nurse had called. Doesn’t cover that, does it? Going to look funny, is that. Lead to questions, shouldn’t wonder, and we don’t want questions, do we?”

  “That’s right, put difficulties in the way.”

  “Got to think it out proper, that’s all.”

  “All right,” she said angrily. “You think of something, then, with your usual inventiveness.”

  “I can’t. I admit that.”

  “Thanks for nothing, I’m sure.”

  “No need to fly off the handle, Ag.” Mr Blundy was doing his best to take the steam out of the situation. There must be a solution somewhere if only they could find it, and Ag was dead right, they mustn’t panic. That was rather vital, bearing in mind, difficult as it was in the circumstances, that Aunt Ethel’s death really had been nothing but an act of God, timely or untimely according to which way you looked at it, and wholly natural and normal. No, they must never lose sight of that. “We’ll have another good think and then see what’s best, Ag.”

  “Better hurry, then.” Ag withdrew her head from the car window and pushed open the door of the barn, half-shut by the wind. Whilst on the way out, she froze.

  Mr Blundy glanced at her and then, looking past her, saw the reason for her sudden lack of activity.

  A shadow was moving in the morning sun, moving long and dark towards the barn. Behind it there appeared a man: a man short and sturdy, dressed in dark clothing, a clerical collar, and something in his arms.

  A bloody parson, now of all times.

  The clergyman, moving on towards the back door of the cottage, became aware of Ag standing just inside the barn. He halted and gave her a grave look.

  “Ah — good morning, good morning, dear lady. This poor old fellow — I found him by the side of the road. Some wretched car, no doubt.”

  Ag emerged from the barn, slowly.

  “What is it, like?”

  “Why, a badger.” The clergyman seemed surprised at Ag’s question. “Poor old fellow, he’s in a bad way. Hit and left — simply hit and left! A townsman, of course. I feel sure that if she’s fit enough Miss Pately will do her best for him. If not, he’ll —”

  “Miss Pately, eh.”

  The clergyman looked closely at Ag. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “would it be rude of me to ask who you are, dear lady?”

  “Miss Pately’s niece. Just staying, like.” She’s done it again, Mr Blundy realised in terrible anguish. Bloody fool!

  “Ah. Then you’ll know how wonderfully good the old lady is with sick animals,” the clergyman said, looking benevolent and saintly. “Quite, quite marvellous … I really don’t know what we would do without her. Almost two months since the operation — I hope she’s keeping up the improvement?”

  Invisible in the car, Mr Blundy closed his eyes and prayed: the prayer was not answered. Ag said, “She’s keeping it up very nicely, thank you.”

  “I’m so glad. I should have called before. My parishes are so widespread, you know.” He paused. “I wonder … would she care to see me now?”

  “No,” Ag said violently, then calmed down. “Er — sorry, Reverend. She’s still asleep. Don’t get up so early these days, not when me and me husband’s here to help, like.”

  “Quite so, quite so. Then I’ll leave this poor old fellow with you, and perhaps Miss Pately would look at him as soon as she’s able.”

  “’Course she will.”

  “Thank you very much. Give her my regards, won’t you?” The clergyman bent and laid the badger gently on some old sacks just inside the door of the barn, raised his hat, bade Ag good morning again and departed. Ag and Mr Blundy looked at each other in silence for a moment, while fear ran like fingers of ice up and down Mr Blundy’s spine. Ag was suffering too: her normally red face had turned quite white.

  “All right,” she said. “Don’t say it, just don’t say it, that’s all. It was me had to do the talking, not you. I couldn’t say it, not when he was standing there like the Bill, waiting to run me in.”

  All Mr Blundy could find to say was, “Now what do we do with the badger?”

  Thirteen

  Mr Blundy, as he wielded the spade he’d found in the barn, felt absolutely terrible about it.

  The period of waiting for dark had been really dreadful.

  It had been a period in which panic had grown and grown. Ag had been in a bad way after that parson’s visit, realising that as a result of her own stupidity a few more days had now to intervene between her aunt’s actual and theoretical deaths, an extra few days that might, when the post-mortem quacks got busy, mean extreme danger. Death due to administered shock, say, could still be murder after all, couldn’t it?

  “I don’t bloody know,” Mr Blundy had shouted at her. “Keep changing your mind, don’t you? I s’pose it could, yes.”

  “We can’t risk it. I tell you we can’t risk it.” Ag had been standing in a curiously rigid stance, over by the window, as if watching for the Bill. Her big square face had begun to crumple: it had a formless, trembly sort of look, as if she were overcome at last, largely by her own daftness. “We just can’t risk it, not now we can’t. But I got an idea. It was given me by that badger.”

  “Poor bugger’s dead.” The badger had died shortly after the clergyman had left.

  “Yes, I know it is. Got to bury it.”

  “There’s no need, Ag.”

  “Yes there is. Auntie would have done, I’m sure. I didn’t know about her being wonderful with animals till that Reverend said, though I did know she was fond of them, always had been. She’d have buried the badger. Now we bury it.” Ag paused and seemed to be stiffening herself and her resolve. “And Auntie.”

  “What?” Mr Blundy leapt a mile. “What did you say?”

  “You heard. Bury Auntie. After dark. In the field out the bac
k. Not the yard. Under the badger.”

  “But for —”

  “Don’t argue, Ern, I can’t stand it. It’s something I got to do. Read prayers and all. She’d like to be out there, near her own cottage where she spent her life.” Ag was shaking all over, like a jelly mountain. It quite unnerved Mr Blundy: he’d never seen her like this before, never in his life. “We’ll do it tonight. Something I got to do, like I said, so don’t argue with me, Ern.”

  “It’s barmy. Bloody daft, if —”

  “Please don’t argue.” Ag stamped her foot.

  “We’ll get done for murder sure as —”

  “It’s something I got to do,” she repeated firmly. “It’s the way out, I know it is. She won’t be found, not ever she won’t. Be no reason to look. We took her south with us because she was lonely. I’ll ring that district nurse and tell her. She won’t have any reason not to believe it. And we know Auntie died a natural death, poor Auntie, she don’t want no post-mortem, all that cutting into little pieces, and interference.”

  It had been no use. Mr Blundy had argued on, from a deep pit of despair and terror, but he hadn’t got anywhere.

  Dig, dig, dig.

  All rock — such barren soil, these fell farmsteads.

  Only fit for sheep. Well, at least no one would be likely ever to bring a plough up here. Mr Blundy, adding a pick to the spade, poked and prodded and bashed, trying his best to keep the noise of his activity to a minimum. For once, luck was on his side: there was plenty of wind again, wind that howled and whined and shrieked and buffeted, the traditional churchyard-at-midnight background to his antics. As for Harold Barnwell, he was inside the cottage now, safe in the kitchen with Ag’s transistor going at full blast. He wouldn’t hear a thing, nor would he see anything. When the time came for Aunt Ethel to be brought down, Harold would be back in the bog.

  But Harold, of course, was as ever the big imponderable: how much did that kid know about Auntie, how much had he heard in the past? Ag had reported his somewhat meaningful conversation, which could have been bravado or something, but Mr Blundy hadn’t thought it wise to point things up too much by asking questions of the kid. Better, he’d decided, to leave things be.