Blood-Tied (17 page)

31

The new constable was PC Williams. She had a gentle Welsh accent and came from an unpronounceable village in South Glamorgan. She quickly settled into a routine of tea making and communicating with the rest of her team. The inspector and his sergeant had been and gone, presumably off to follow up leads and source information. Nicholson’s call had been traced to a call box so no doubt witnesses were being sought. The waiting game continued.

What would Leonard Nicholson’s tactics be? Was he seriously under the impression that Esme was in a position to put her hands on £2 million? The inspector had said not, that there was still much negotiating to do and this was only a starting point. The thought of the present uncertainty being long-drawn-out was agonising. Esme questioned her ability to handle it and wondered about the parents of child kidnap victims. Their sense of helplessness must be infinitely worse, with their particular vulnerability.

The telephone sat like a malevolent force in the corner of the room. Esme felt her eye drawn to its threatening presence every time she walked near by. She needed something to distract her. She remembered their conversation about the client and the Shropton canal. She hadn’t been back to check his credentials. She walked over to her desk and booted the computer. Perhaps rereading his e-mails would throw up some ideas. From the outset she’d felt a sense of unease about the client but when her work was paid for so promptly she had dismissed her initial misgivings.

Lucy had been gazing out of the front window. She turned round as the computer sang out its signature tune and looked questioningly at Esme.

‘Just checking on something,’ said Esme, with a loaded glance. Lucy picked up the message and came to look over Esme’s shoulder. Esme murmured ‘Shropton Canal client’ under her breath, as the screen went through its procedures and sat ready for instructions. Esme clicked on to the appropriate file and opened it to find the e-mailed brief she’d received. They both read through everything.

Silently Esme pointed to the screen. The client had asked for the route of the canal, but the words Esme was indicating were, ‘and details of derelict buildings and their proximity to occupied properties.’

‘Maybe he was planning to do them up,’ whispered Esme, thinking of the development issue associated with Polly’s land. ‘He could be a property developer.’

‘But British Waterways still owns most of the canal buildings,’ answered Lucy. ‘He’d have to buy them first.’

‘He may have already done so. They do sell them off now and again and they’ve been involved in various partnership developments recently.’

‘Maybe.’ Lucy sounded unconvinced. ‘Or perhaps he was looking for a nice out-of-the-way place for keeping a kidnap victim.’

Esme looked at Lucy aghast. ‘That’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it? Anyway, this is his Plan B? The time scale doesn’t fit.’

‘But maybe development was the original idea but the information came in handy.’

Esme took a quick glance at Constable Williams. She was looking out of the window, engrossed in something happening in the lane.

Lucy rubbed her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Take no notice. I’m tired and I’m letting my imagination run away with me.’

‘But what if you’re on to something?’ asked Esme. ‘How could we establish whether there’s a connection?’

‘What’s his name? It’s obviously not Leonard Nicholson, but what about the same initials or something.’

Esme shook her head. ‘Arthur Cranfield. A. C.’

‘Not even close.’

‘What other tricks do people use? What about family links?’

They looked at one another. Esme stood up. It was time to consult.

‘I need to speak to your boss,’ she said to the WPC.

By the time they’d tracked the inspector down Esme was convinced there was something in Lucy’s hunch. She hoped she wasn’t going to hear the wrong information. Leonard Nicholson could have taken any sort of random name, off a billboard, out of a magazine. There would be no way of knowing. At least Arthur Cranfield could be checked out. At least then they’d know if he was legitimate.

‘Why would he employ you, though, given your link?’ said Lucy as Esme waited for the inspector to come to the phone.

‘He wouldn’t have been aware of one, probably, until later. That’s when he dropped me.’

‘Amazing that he picked you though, don’t you think?’

‘Not really. I’m the only professional researcher listed in the phone book in this area.’

Lucy gave a wry smile. ‘Hobson’s choice, then.’

Esme heard the line crackle and the inspector’s voice came on.

‘Mrs Quentin? What’s this? You need to know something?’ He sounded bemused.

‘What were Leonard Nicholson’s parents’ names?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Humour me, please, Inspector. It could be important. On the other hand it could be nothing.’

‘If it’s important you ought to explain.’

Esme curbed her impatience and quickly summarised. ‘I had a strange client recently. There may be a link with the Monkleigh family. His name might be a clue, or tell us if he’s genuine.’ She willed him not to ask her to explain in what way she thought her client strange.

‘What’s his name? We’ll run a check on him.’

Esme told him.

‘OK, wait a moment.’ Esme imagined him scratching around on his desk. She heard his voice in the background talking to someone. Lucy came and stood next to her. She pressed her ear to the phone.

‘We’ll run a check anyway but since you ask his father was Arthur Nicholson.’ So far so good. Esme held her breath. ‘And his mother was Lillian Monkleigh.’ She cursed. Of course it would be Monkleigh. She was Sir Charles’s sister.

Lucy mouthed something at Esme.

‘Did his mother have a middle name?’ said Esme quickly. She thought for a moment that he was going to protest she was wasting his time, but he just sighed. There were voices again in the background.

‘I’ll have to call you back.’ He disconnected. Esme put down the phone and bit her bottom lip.

‘Well, the Arthur bit fits,’ said Lucy. ‘Even if the other doesn’t match up, at least they’ll be able to check him out.’

Esme started pacing again. Constable Williams looked on from her post by the window. Lucy dropped into the armchair. The clock ticked. The voices of children passed by the window. School was out. A delivery lorry pulled up over the road and the sounds of the metal bolts being drawn back grated on the tense silence in the room.

The telephone rang. All eyes looked at it and then at one another. Was this the inspector phoning back? Or Leonard Nicholson?

Esme strode over and grabbed the receiver.

‘Leonard Nicholson’s mother,’ said Inspector Barry, ‘had two middle names, one unusual one. I’m told it was probably her mother’s maiden name.’

‘What was it?’ said Esme, clutching the phone.

‘Cranfield.’

32

‘You’ll wear a hole in the carpet,’ said Lucy from the armchair. Esme was pacing again.

She halted by the window. ‘It keeps me busy.’

‘And stressed. You must be pumping so much adrenaline.’

Esme sighed. ‘I keep looking at that phone, desperate for it to ring and yet terrified it will do.’ She looked out into the lane in an attempt to find something to divert her thoughts, but it was empty. Inside was quiet, apart from the sound of Constable Williams’s radio occasionally crackling into life in the kitchen.

‘Do you think they’ve set out yet?’ said Esme.

‘Give them a chance. You only told them five minutes ago. They will have barely had time to decide on their plan.’

‘I ought to have arranged to meet them out there, to show them where I’d researched. They might go blundering about all over the place and frighten him off.’

‘Esme, they’re quite capable of reading the map you faxed them. You’ve got to trust them. The trouble with you is you always want to be in the thick of it.’

Esme shot Lucy a glance. It was a measure of the pressure Lucy must be feeling that she was so biting in her remarks.

Lucy avoided Esme’s gaze. ‘Sorry, that was a bit insensitive.’

Esme flapped her hand. ‘You’re trying to make me see sense, I know.’ She knew Lucy was only trying to protect her from stumbling into a perilous situation. Perhaps it would be better to sit by the phone and let the police do their job.

‘Anyway there’s no guarantee that that’s where he’ll be holding her,’ Lucy was saying. ‘It was only a wild guess.’

‘The fact that the inspector reacted must mean they think there’s a good chance.’

‘He’s probably glad to have a lead to follow.’

Esme thought for a moment. She glanced towards the sound of radio exchanges and sat down on the sofa trying to calm her frantic thoughts.

Her resolve lasted five minutes. She couldn’t simply sit around waiting for something to happen. She got up and perched on the arm of Lucy’s chair. She lowered her voice. ‘I want to go there. To the canal.’

Lucy almost leapt out of her seat. ‘Are you mad?’ She nodded towards the kitchen. ‘She wouldn’t agree to it, for a start.’

‘She might not notice for a while. We could get a head start. It would be too late by then.’

Lucy frowned. ‘But you’re supposed to be here, waiting for him to phone again.’

‘I can get around that.’ Esme picked up the phone and pressed a series of keys. She listened for a moment, then replaced the receiver.

‘What was all that about?’ said Lucy looking alarmed.

‘Call diversion. I use it all the time when I’m working. Incoming calls go straight to my mobile.’ Esme snatched her mobile phone from off the desk and her coat from the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She slipped the phone into one of the pockets.

‘But won’t they know? They’ve got the line tapped, don’t forget.’ Lucy was looking pale.

‘It doesn’t matter if they do. It’ll be too late by the time they’ve put two and two together. Anyway, we’re not running out on them, just getting out of here. We can make contact once we’re in place.’ She looked down at Lucy’s terrified face. ‘Now’s our chance,’ she hissed, ‘while she’s talking to HQ.’ Lucy was still sitting upright in her chair as though cast in stone. Esme looked at her. ‘You can stay here, if you’d rather. Say I disappeared while you were in the loo. I don’t want to drag you into this if you don’t want to.’

Lucy stared for a moment. Then she shook her head and stood up. ‘I think I’d better come and stop you doing something stupid.’

Esme grabbed Lucy’s coat and threw it over to her. With one last glance in the direction of the kitchen, she seized the Ordnance Survey map from off the desk and they stole out of the front door.

*

Threatening clouds were beginning to crowd the sky as Esme and Lucy arrived at a patch of wasteland which was the closest place you could get a car to this section of the canal.

‘So where are they?’ said Lucy looking around.

Esme opened the map and studied it. ‘The canal originally came along here,’ she said following the route with her finger. ‘That’s where I guessed that he might be, because there were all sorts of old buildings along that stretch. And there’s the entrance to the tunnel, as well.’

‘But that’s miles away. What are we doing here?’

‘This is the south end of the tunnel. It’s been bricked up for years so I didn’t attach any importance to it. I thought the other end would be more likely.’

‘So what’s changed?’

‘It’s changed,’ said Esme, folding up the map, ‘because it’s perfectly possible for someone to unbrick it. If it looks as though that’s happened, the inspector can redirect some of his men to look out here.’

Esme opened the car door. ‘I’ll go down and see and report back. You hang on here.’ She climbed out of the car.

‘Esme?’

Esme popped her head back inside. ‘Yes?’

‘Is this wise? Just call them anyway and say you’ve thought of it. Don’t go poking round on your own. He could be out there.’

‘He’ll be keeping his head down, won’t he? He’s not likely to give himself away. I could be just taking a walk. He doesn’t know who I am from Adam.’

‘How do you know?’

A momentary flicker of uncertainty flashed into Esme’s mind. True, how did she know? He’d known who to call, hadn’t he? He’d employed her. How did she know he’d not been watching her? An image of the black Audi came into her mind. Had he ever been close enough to see her properly? Not on the couple of occasions she’d noticed him, but what if there had been other times?

She decided she hadn’t time to ponder on such trivialities. She still wasn’t convinced he’d blow his cover. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’d feel better about it call the inspector and tell him where we are.’ She handed Lucy his crumpled card from out of her pocket.

Lucy fished her mobile phone out of her bag. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

Esme closed the car door and set off towards the line of the canal. The grass was long and wet, and in no time her boots and jeans were soaked through. She forced her way through the areas of arching brambles which snagged her hair and jacket sleeves, until she reached the edge of the cutting. There was no water in it now but, overgrown though it was, there was still a discernible path down the middle. She set off in the direction of the tunnel entrance. She couldn’t see very far ahead of her because of the wide bend in the canal. Then, as it began to open out, she could make out the stonework of the original arch on the left hand side. Soon the end of the tunnel came into view.

She halted abruptly. Even though she had considered the possibility, the sight of a hole in the wall large enough for a person to crawl through made her flesh creep. The bricks lying at the base of the opening were bright and clean, in complete contrast to those which remained in the wall. They had been removed recently. Of course it might mean nothing. It simply extended the possibilities. She backed off and scrambled up on to the bank.

She called Lucy to get her to alert the inspector.

‘I’ve already spoken to him. Someone’s on their way,’ said Lucy. ‘But I’ll update him. Are you on your way back?’

‘No, not yet. I’ll have a look around first.’

‘You’re not thinking of going into the tunnel?’

Esme laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid.’

She disconnected and looked around. She could vaguely make out a solid shape across the other side of the canal. It was buried under a mass of branches and half-dead brambles. It looked like the remains of a building. When the branches were in full leaf it would be indistinguishable from the undulating landscape but the new shoots hadn’t yet filled out enough to screen it.

She dipped down into the cut and climbed back up the other side towards the structure. It was most likely an old storage building, perhaps for housing coal to fuel the old steamboats. There were no windows in it that she could see.

By pushing her way between the undergrowth and the wall she managed to manoeuvre her way along one side. If she could find the front entrance she might establish, discreetly, whether the building had been used recently. Buddleia had seeded deep into the base of the wall in places and it took considerable effort to shove her way through the tangle of branches which grabbed her jacket tails and pressed against her face. She stopped to take a breath and peered out. She had almost reached the end of the building. As she was about to force her way through the last knot of brambles she heard a car approaching. She pulled back, staying hidden behind the brickwork as it swung into view.

Her stomach leapfrogged when she recognised the vehicle. It was the black Audi.