“Because there's a limit to the depths even kidnappers will sink to!” cried David in distress. “They didn't need to maim her to gain our co-operation, and they knew that.”
“Actually,” said Brodie, “there are no limits to the depths kidnappers will sink to. People who like children don't abduct them - except in certain circumstances where money isn't the issue. We'll come back to that in a minute. And after the last twelve days they could be forgiven for thinking they'd have to do something pretty extraordinary to get your co-operation. This was it - her hair?”
“No,” whispered David. His eyes were afraid. He'd thought Brodie was here to help him. Instead she was raising fresh obstacles to the safe recovery of his child. “This was just the start. If this doesn' t work either, maybe she'll come home a piece at a time.”
“For God's sake!” snarled Ibbotsen; but he couldn't stop the picture imprinting behind his eyes. “Look, it's over. They've won. I want you to take them the money and hopefully come back with my granddaughter.”
Brodie shrugged. “It's your money, spend it how you like. But I doubt it'll bring Sophie back.”
The Ibbotsens, father and son, stared at her as if she was threatening to kill the child herself.
Daniel said softly, “You said there are times when money isn't the issue. You said you'd get back to that.”
She gave him an appreciative nod. At least somebody, besides her, was still thinking. “Yes. Children aren't always kidnapped for ransom. Sometimes they're kidnapped because someone wants a child. Either that child, or any child.”
Ibbotsen said, uncertainly, “Like women who take babies from hospitals?”
“Well, that's one example,” said Brodie. “Though at five Sophie is probably too old for that. They want a baby they can pass off as their own.”
“Then what
are
you talking about?” demanded David, desperation contorting his features like fury. “White slavery?”
“I'm talking about tug-of-love children,” said Brodie calmly. “Mr Ibbotsen, who is Sophie's mother?”
Ibbotsen said, “Marie?” and his voice was incredulous.
David said sharply, “Don't be absurd.”
“Why absurd?” asked Brodie. “Clearly from your reaction Sophie's mother is still alive. Why couldn't she be trying to get her daughter back?”
David was looking at her as if she were mad. “Because of the ransom demands. Whoever did this doesn't want Sophie - they want half a million pounds.”
“That's certainly what they said,” nodded Brodie. “Sometimes people lie. Tell me this. If you thought Marie had snatched Sophie from the playground, what would you have done?”
Ibbotsen didn't hesitate. “Called the police.”
“And she'd have been picked up within minutes. But you didn't do that, did you?”
“Of course not. They said -” Understanding was like a crack growing in the ice-field eyes. “You mean, the ransom thing could have been a smoke-screen?”
“Where does Marie live?”
“In Brittany.”
“Is she French?”
“Oh yes,” said David feelingly. “But -”
Brodie cut him off with a wave. “Let's just follow this through. You married a French woman, you had a daughter, and then you separated.”
“Divorced.”
“She went back to France?”
“This is nonsense,” insisted David in growing desperation. “It has nothing to do with Marie.”
Ibbotsen answered for him. “It was the best thing.”
There was plainly a sub-text. Brodie raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“She needed drying-out. It made more sense to use a clinic close
to her parents' home. The marriage was over by then, there was no affection left between them.”
“Your daughter-in-law was an alcoholic?”
“Is an alcoholic,” said Ibbotsen. “You can stop drinking. You can't stop being an alcoholic.”
“And did she? - stop drinking.”
He avoided her eyes. “I'm not sure. She left the clinic - I know because I paid the bill. I have no way of knowing if that was the end of her drinking or if she went back to it later. We haven't seen her for three years.”
Brodie's eyes grew stalks. “Three years? She hasn't visited her daughter in three years?”
“Don't look at me like that, it's perfectly legal,” growled Ibbotsen. “The court agreed she wasn't capable of caring for a child. It said she could visit Sophie once a month but wasn't to take her out of this house unless accompanied by my son. In fact she never came. Perhaps she felt it was better to make a clean break.”
Brodie had to make a conscious effort to blink. For a moment she was entirely lost for words. Then she said slowly, in wonder, “Men. Stupid, ignorant, arrogant bloody men. For twelve days you've been worried that Sophie was kidnapped by strangers, for ransom. You've avoided the police; you've spent big sums of money on experts in something that hasn't happened; you perpetrated atrocities on someone who never did you any harm and finally you damn near committed murder. Because you thought David's ex-wife wanted a clean break from her daughter!”
Her venom had knocked all the expression off their faces. Ibbotsen was the first to recover. He said carefully, “I take it you think that's unlikely.”
“Unlikely,” echoed Brodie. “That the mother of a five-year-old child, denied the right to raise her by an addiction plainly induced by living with you two, should decide to write off this daughter and hope for better luck next time? Should go back to the land of her birth and never hop on a EuroStar to visit her little girl? Should go through the trauma of detox and never ask herself if she was now fit
to look after her again? Oh yes, Mr Ibbotsen, I'd say that's pretty unlikely, wouldn't you?”
“When you put it like that,” said Ibbotsen, tight-lipped. “I just never considered it. Marie? She never asked to reopen the custody issue.”
“She wouldn't have succeeded, would she, not against you. But she would have alerted you to how she was thinking, and the possibility that she might take more extreme measures.”
“Like kidnapping her own daughter?”
“Exactly like that! Mr Ibbotsen, it's not that rare. And this is a classic case. The estranged parent is a foreign national who's returned to her native land. There's a history of mental instability and a sense of grievance. She thought she had only to get Sophie back to France and they could disappear. All she had to do was stop you calling the police for a few hours.
“And she knew how to do that. She knows the pair of you pretty well, after all. She knew you wouldn't risk Sophie's life. But she also knew you wouldn't pay good cash money without a fight. She guessed you'd stall for time and mount a counter-attack. She wanted time too. A few hours would see her safely across the Channel; a few days would let her disappear so completely she'd be safe even when you realised who you were looking for. A few phonecalls and some lurid threats kept you thinking this was a hostage situation while she hid Sophie away.
“Finally she pretended to lose patience and sent you the box of hair. Hell, maybe she's in the mood by now. Maybe she thinks she can have Sophie and your money as well. Maybe she thinks she's earned it.”
“This is crazy,” moaned David. “Crazy! It's nothing to do with Marie. We
know
what it's about: half a million pounds. Dad, I'm begging you, please don't listen to this. I don't doubt Mrs Farrell knows what she's talking about, and I'm sure she's trying to help, but she's wrong. If you let her persuade you that Marie has Sophie so there's time to sort this out without paying the ransom, God knows what's going to happen.
“My little girl's with people who look at her and just see a pile of
money. They've had her for nearly a fortnight - she hasn't seen a friendly face or heard a kind word for a fortnight. She must be scared out of her mind. She's only five years old: she has no idea what we're doing, doesn't realise that these things take time - she must think we've abandoned her.
“And maybe that's pretty much what they think too - the kidnappers. We know they're tired of waiting. They cut off her hair; but they won't stop at that if we do nothing. Please, Dad, don't change your mind again. Pay them, and let's get her home.”
He was almost in tears. But Ibbotsen looked at him not with compassion but irritation. Then he looked back at Brodie. “It wasn't Marie on the phone.”
Brodie shrugged. “She hired some help. You can get someone to do anything for enough money; as you know. What about the video?”
“What?”
“The video of the kidnapping. It was a woman who took Sophie away, wasn't it? Could that have been Marie?”
David shook his head miserably. “It was nothing like her.”
But Ibbotsen turned on the television and the VCR. The tape was already loaded: of course, no one in this house had been watching anything else. “I never thought of Marie,” he said by way of explanation. “I didn't recognise the woman, but perhaps if I'd been thinking of Marie ⦔ They watched the children play, the traffic pass.
A car pulled up beside the railings: a big, smart, dark car for people who thought limousines a tad flash. When David Ibbotsen told Miss Scotney it was family transport she would have believed him.
There were two people in the car. The camera showed nothing of the driver, only picked up the passenger as she walked to the school gate. She was wearing a dark suit with a calf-length skirt, high heels and a brimmed hat. She never looked at the camera, either because she didn't know it was there or because she did. The face of Daniel Hood, fiddling with his telescope on top of the monument five hundred metres away, could be enlarged and enhanced until there was a recognisable image, but the kidnapper the camera was there to capture remained resolutely anonymous.
“I'm telling you, that isn't Marie,” insisted David.
Ibbotsen nodded in reluctant agreement. “No, I don't think it is.” He went to turn the television off.
Brodie hadn't seen the tape before. Its existence was responsible for her involvement in these events, and for Daniel's. They'd been able to infer what it must show, but this was the first time she'd seen it. “Let it run,” she said, and Ibbotsen stood back.
The woman entered the playground and made for a knot of little girls dressed in identical claret uniforms and playing some kind of clapping game. There was no soundtrack.
She knew which of the children she wanted, dismissed the others. Long fair hair spilling down her back identified the girl as Sophie Ibbotsen. For a couple of seconds she and the woman seemed to speak. Then the woman took her wrist, led her to the car and got into the back seat with her, and the car drove away. The whole episode had taken less than a minute.
Brodie took the remote and wound the tape back; looking for something.
Daniel frowned. “What is it?”
“I'm not sure. Maybe I imagined it. Let's run it again.”
“What am I looking for?” But she wouldn't tell him.
She restarted the tape as the woman led the child towards the car. She played it for a few seconds before stopping it again. “There. Did you see?”
Daniel nodded. “Yes.”
Ibbotsen, who hadn't, grew impatient. “What? What did you see?”
Brodie played it again. “Sophie doesn't want to go with this woman. Either she doesn't know her or she doesn't like her. She's hanging back so the woman's practically dragging her.
“Now look. Sophie reaches the point where she can see inside the car, and now she isn't reluctant any more. She moves towards the open door. Would Sophie recognise her mother?”
David Ibbotsen was watching the tape closely. “No. She was only two when Marie left.”
The old man disagreed. “Of course she would. Marie never sends
her a birthday card or a Christmas card or anything else without enclosing a photograph of herself. She doesn't know her mother but yes, I think she'd recognise her.”
“And want to go with her?”
Ibbotsen thought about it. “I imagine most children with only one parent would want to meet the other.”
Brodie nodded. “I think so too. Put your money back in the bank, Mr Ibbotsen, it won't bring Sophie back. What you need now are a French private detective and a specialist in French law.”
Daniel said softly, “You're saying she's been safe all along?”
For a moment Brodie couldn't bring herself to answer. If she was right he'd suffered for nothing. But lying wouldn't alter that, only devalue the pain. “I think so. I think she's been enjoying a jolly holiday travelling with her mother through the French countryside. I think if Mr Ibbotsen paid the ransom, what he'd get in return would be a happy snap of the two of them together.
“I think France is a big country, and it's full of people whose first loyalty is to other French people rather than their English ex-husbands. I think Sophie's fine, but it could be a long time before she's back in England. Possibly not until she's old enough to buy her own ticket.”
There was silence in the room, each of them coccooned in private thoughts.
Brodie thought she'd solved the mystery, and if it wasn't the ideal solution there was at least a certain natural justice to it.
Daniel was feeling guilty because he'd felt better when he thought Sophie's life was in danger.
Ibbotsen was trying to decide how he felt, because he didn't want to lose either his granddaughter or his money but he really didn't want to be robbed of both.
David Ibbotsen alone was unequivocal in his feelings. Any match between his father's money and his daughter's safety was a no-contest. This alternative scenario suddenly produced like a rabbit from a hat by a woman who had only the most peripheral involvement with the family, who didn't know either Sophie or Marie, who'd been picked out of a phonebook to serve a particular function and
should have subsided into anonymity again once her task was done - it wasn't so much that he doubted her, more that he
knew
she was wrong. He
knew
it was about money. He knew Sophie couldn't come home until the money was paid.
He looked at Brodie with deep resentment. “For ten days we had one of the best hostage negotiators in the business on the case. He didn't think he was talking to Sophie's mother.”
“He probably wasn't. We know there was another woman involved - he was probably talking to her. Marie would be pretty crazy to phone you herself. She involved a friend and let her do the talking.”
Ibbotsen was nodding slowly, remembering. “He did say - our negotiator - there was no rush. That Sophie wasn't in any immediate danger. That the woman he talked to wasn't panicking to get her off her hands.”