Fragile Lives (19 page)

Slowly, he made his way downstairs to where Cheryl was waiting. The phone, off the hook, sat on the hall table. Cheryl patted his shoulder. ‘You OK?' she asked. ‘Sure?'

He nodded and, reluctantly, picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?'

‘George. Hi, this is Nora, Paul's mum.'

‘I know,' he said. He wasn't likely to forget, was he?

Cheryl retreated to the kitchen but left the door ajar. Ursula, with a small, tight smile, took herself off to the conservatory. From the television room came the sound of voices raised in argument about the choice of channel. George waited for Nora to begin.

‘What happened, George? You were with him. What happened today?'

‘Today?' It hadn't just been today. Didn't she realize that?

‘Yes, today. Don't be so difficult, George. I want to know what happened.'

‘Is he ok? Is he home?'

‘No, George, he's not OK. Of course he's not OK. I don't think he's ever going to be OK.'

‘I'm sorry,' George said. ‘I really am.'

‘Sorry! Is that all you can say? That you're sorry?'

Her voice cracked and failed and George tried to defend himself. Why was she so mad at him? Hadn't she noticed the way her son had been behaving, how he felt, that he couldn't cope? ‘He's been getting worse and worse and I've been telling the teachers and they say they've been telling you but you haven't been helping him. You've been doing nothing.'

He was shouting down the phone at her. He hadn't meant to but he couldn't take the blame for Paul, not the whole of it.

The noise in the television room had died. They were crowded in the doorway, staring at him. Cheryl came out of the kitchen and shooed them away. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ursula standing hesitantly in the corridor that led down to the conservatory. Her eyes were wide and her mouth set in an anxious line.

‘You did it to him,' Paul's mother said. ‘It must have been your idea to go there, torment that old woman. Paul would never have done any of it alone and now my son is … my son is …'

George could not bear the injustice of it. It wasn't his fault. Not his idea. He'd done everything he could to stop Paul. He stared at Cheryl, wanting to know what to do. Gently, she took the phone from his hand and spoke into the receiver.

‘I think that's quite enough, don't you, Mrs Robinson. Call here again and abuse one of my kids and I'll get a restraining order out on you. Understand?'

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.'

M
ac 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 troubled 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.'

T
he 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.