Fragile Lives (22 page)

Kendal had opened the door and stepped inside. There were armed police behind him. ‘We still hope not,' he told her. ‘And I'm sure Mr Randall will cooperate and we'll get them back for you, very soon.'

Randall laughed out loud. ‘You idiot,' he said. ‘I don't know anything, but I've no doubt your Mr Haines will by now. Subtlety not exactly your style, is it, Inspector?'

Mrs Goldman let out a scream of pure despair. Her husband went to her but she pushed him away. ‘Your fault,' she screamed at him. ‘This is all your fault. You did this to us.'

Kendal watched as one of the female officers led her away. Goldman stood stock still, unable to react, even to move. Randall was still protesting.

‘Consider yourself under arrest, Mr Randall. Suspicion of abduction, fraud and, … of anything else that seems appropriate later on.' He gestured to his sergeant. ‘Do the honours, please. Come with me, Mr Goldman. We need to talk.'

E
xactly when Coran and Haines jumped ship no one seemed able to establish but, as the coastguard pointed out to the rather irritated sergeant, they hadn't actually been under arrest and it hadn't been until after they had reached port that the police had made the link between Haines and his Williams alias.

‘You've still got the rest of them,' the coastguard said cheerfully. ‘Half a dozen miscreants is not a bad haul for one night.'

Honour was partly restored by the news that a warrant had been issued. The boat would be searched and, after tonight's shenanigans, both the coastguard and the sergeant agreed that something interesting was bound to turn up.

Mac received the news of the loss of Haines and Coran just as he was getting the remnants of the Martin household installed in the hotel.

‘Oh, it's lovely, Mac.' Bethany was enchanted. ‘Do you think they have a piano?' she asked again.

‘I think it's a bit late to play tonight,' Mac said gently, as it was actually around three in the morning by now, ‘but I'm sure if you have a chat to the receptionist in the morning they'll be able to sort something out.'

She nodded happily and went off with the Montmorency brothers to find their rooms.

Mac took the opportunity to call Hill House again.

‘Has the patrol car arrived yet?' he asked a bleary Cheryl.

‘No, they're apparently on the way. I've checked all the locks. Look, how worried should I be?'

‘Hopefully, not very. I'm just covering all bases. Look, check on George for me, will you?'

‘Already done. He's fine, but yes, just for you I'll check again.'

Cheryl made her way back up the main staircase. The light was always left on at night, just a single bulb but enough to make sure no one stumbled on the stairs, and anyway some of the kids were nervous of the dark. A tall window gave a view on to the rear garden and the cliff path. She stood at the side of the window, looking out, but the rain driving heavily against the pane made it hard to see.

She heard George's door open and the boy padded down the steps to join her. ‘See anything?'

‘You should be asleep.'

‘I can't sleep.' He took up position on the other side of the window. ‘It'd be better if we switched the light off,' he pointed out.

‘I suppose it would,' she said. ‘It just feels, I don't know, a bit scary if I do that.'

George looked at her in some surprise. ‘You're frightened?'

‘I'm only human, you know.' She smiled at him. ‘OK, since you're here, you switch the light out and we'll take a quick look, then put it back on.'

‘OK.' George took up position beside the switch. ‘Ready?'

‘Yeah. Go.'

He flicked the switch and then came back to the window. Gusting wind hurled rain at them again, then dropped momentarily, allowing a brief gap in the wash of water. Was that something? George could not be sure. He pressed his nose closer to the glass, aware that Cheryl was doing the same and together they peered fearfully out into the sodden night.

Something moved. ‘It's probably just an animal,' Cheryl whispered.

‘You saw it too? It looked too big to be a fox.'

‘What's that?'

George looked but couldn't see. Then a beam of light cut across the glass and Cheryl sighed with relief. ‘That must be the patrol car coming up the drive. The lights hit the glass when it comes round the bend.'

George nodded, he leapt to switch on the landing light and then ran down the stairs.

‘Don't open the door,' Cheryl warned. ‘Not until we know for sure.'

George had no intention of doing so. He stared through the glass panel in the big front doors, the blue neon absurdly reassuring and the sight of the uniformed officer slamming his door and running across the drive added another level of comfort. A second could be seen inside the car.

What if they're not real? George thought. What if they're impostors?

But Cheryl had already opened the door and George heard the young officer talk about DI McGregor who had sent them to keep watch. He asked if there was anything to report.

George felt relief flood through him. Until that moment he had not understood how scared and tense he had been.

Haines's men arrived at Peverill Lodge about a half-hour after the residents had left. Gaining access through the rear, the three moved cautiously into the hall, surprised to find the lights on this late into the night.

It was soon clear that there was no one home. They called Haines.

‘Muddy footprints in the hall, sodden clothes left in the bathroom that match what she was wearing. The girl was here but there's no one now. Looks like they've done a flit.'

‘Find them,' Haines said but reason told him Stan would have hidden the girl somewhere and then gone after the twins. He'd already increased the guard on the house. He was confident that Stan would be playing a losing game should he follow that particular course of action and once Stan Holden had been taken, he'd take great pleasure in administering his retribution.

Haines pondered on what he should have done with the twins. Goldman might still be of use and the girls still have some value as leverage. No hurry and while Stan had some cause to try and rescue, he would still be in play and Haines knew he wouldn't want to attract the attention of the authorities. Vaguely, Haines wondered where Coran had gone. He'd seen him last just as they came into port, then Haines had taken the opportunity to disappear and Coran had apparently done the same.

Randall had been received by the custody sergeant and his belongings catalogued and signed for. He had said very little, cooperated only as far as was necessary, demanded legal counsel and been told that his lawyer would be contacted. It was an innocent request, the custody sergeant thought, that he be allowed to call home and tell his wife where he was. She would be worrying.

The call was made, Randall taken to his cell.

When Kendal arrived some fifteen minutes later and handed Roger Goldman over to be booked in, he checked the log on Randall.

‘He's been no trouble,' the sergeant told him. ‘Asked for his lawyer.'

‘And the phone call?'

‘Just a message to his wife. Tell her where he was. He said she'd be worried.' He shrugged, wondering what his boss was bothered about. Such calls were normal enough.

‘According to Mr Randall,' DI Kendal told him, ‘his wife is away, in France. She wouldn't know if he was here or in Timbuktu.'

He had men already en route to Randall's place. He called them now.

‘It's on fire, guv. The place is an inferno. A neighbour a half-mile down the road called the fire brigade, he reckons he saw three cars leave just before he saw the flames.'

Kendal swore. Goldman's testimony was even more vital now and he'd say nothing more until the twins were found.

What if they'd been at Randall's house? Was that possible?

Kendal closed his eyes and hoped it wasn't so.

T
hey had found the farmhouse. Stan had halted the car about a quarter-mile down the road and he and Fitch prepared to move forward together, leaving the others in Tim's car.

‘You armed?' Fitch asked.

‘Not so you'd notice.'

‘Right.' Fitch left, went to his car, returned a moment later with an automatic and two spare clips.

Stan inspected it. ‘A Glock,' he said. ‘Your boss had class.'

Fitch grunted some kind of reply and then turned his attention to Joy. ‘Stay put,' he said. ‘Be good.'

Making the most of the cover afforded by the rain and cloud and filthy weather, they approached the house from the side. Stan recalled seeing a gate leading into the field they now crossed. It was not the ideal approach, but it was more practical than trying to force their way through the thicket of thorn hedge or trying to approach the house by road.

‘There's a longish drive,' he told Fitch. ‘Narrow and the hedge is high. There's nowhere to go if we're spotted.' So across the field it was, with the hope that no one was standing at the gate to see them.

A dozen yards from the five-bar gate they halted, listening. The wind howled and the driving rain lashed at their faces and exposed hands, chilling them, stiffening Stan's fingers and reminding him painfully of his advancing years. He signalled to Fitch that they would move forward. Slowly, very slowly.

Fitch dropped low and Stan eased past him, checking the gate and the yard beyond for signs of life. He saw nothing, then, from the opposite end of the gate to where he'd left Fitch positioned, he found he had a view of a lit window.

Three men and a woman, two sitting at a table, the third man leaning against a kitchen range while the woman shifted something on the stove top. He didn't recognize any of them, but felt no surprise at that. Haines liked to keep his teams separate. Cells, he called them, like he was some big-shot spy or terrorist. As Stan watched, a fourth man came into the kitchen and picked up a tray. Stan counted three mugs as the man paused to exchange a comment with those seated at the table. He saw them laugh. So, three plus three, plus the woman. Any more?

He eased the gate open just enough to slip through, waited while Fitch did the same, closed it, hoping the small protesting squeak emitted by the hinges would be lost in the noise of the storm.

‘At least four males, one female. The kids are probably on the first floor. There's a light, flickering, looks like a television.'

Slowly the two men moved around to the back of the house. Outbuildings defined the limit of the yard and backed on to the field. Farm equipment cluttered the concrete, creating both cover and hazard. A back door promised access into the house, but Stan was unsurprised to find it locked. Was it bolted too? Would it be a possible point of entry?

Darkened windows on the first floor at the rear. Coming round to the side, the downstairs windows were lit, were three men, watching television, drinking the cups of tea, chatting about whatever was on the box. They looked relaxed, as unconcerned as the men occupying the kitchen.

Haines might be expecting me to come here, Stan thought, but no one sees me as a viable threat. After all, they'll assume that I'm alone. We may be able to make use of that.

‘We need a distraction,' he said to Fitch. ‘And we need a plan.'

Fitch nodded and they turned back the way they had come, crossing the field and returning to the car.

Rina listened as they told her what their reconnaissance had established. ‘Are you sure the children are there?'

Stan shrugged. ‘This is where I left them. Haines has shipped in extra cover. What else are we to think?'

‘So, it's time to call Mac,' Rina said. ‘Let the police take it from here. It's foolish not to, Stan.'

‘She's right,' Joy said. ‘Isn't she, Fitch?'

The big man nodded. ‘Nothing to be gained by us storming in there if the police can do it for us,' he said. ‘The kids are as much at risk if we go in as if the police do it. Less, probably, there's only the two of us. No offence, Rina, but the three of you aren't exactly trained for this, are you?'

Stan sighed, let down but having to accept that the others had a point. ‘Do it,' he said.

Coran came down from the first floor and into the kitchen, halting the laughter and conversation.

‘He's here,' he said. ‘I saw him. He did a recce and then went and there's someone with him. I couldn't see who.'

‘You sure?'

‘Course I'm sure. I couldn't get a clear shot from the window or I'd have finished him. Look, he's no dumb ass, he took Duggan's daughter right off the boat, it's possible he's been able to call on her dad's network.'

He saw the men exchanging glances, felt the mood change. ‘So, I take the kids, now, before they come back mob-handed.'

Coran studied the men carefully. The three in the sitting room were just added bodies; he wasn't bothered about them, they'd do whatever Grogan said and it was Grogan who was the focus of Coran's attention now. He sat at the table, considering his options. Grogan knew Coran, knew he'd been Haines's right hand for the past twelve months or so, had no reason to doubt his word, but he'd also been given a fair amount of conflicting information in the last few hours. Haines had sent extra men. Coran had then turned up unannounced, acting, he said, off Haines's orders and then spun a yarn about Stan Holden, a man Grogan knew only by reputation, snatching some girl from right under Haines's nose.

Now he was suggesting that he take the kids away from the safe house.

He shook his head. ‘I should ask the boss.'

‘Do it,' Coran said. He leaned against the range, surveying the room. ‘Any more tea in that pot?'

‘Thought you didn't want one.'

‘That was before I knew I'd be losing the option,' Coran said with a smile. The woman, Tina, smiled back. Her eyes told him she fancied him a lot more than any of the other thugs vying for her attentions. Coran could almost smell the testosterone in the kitchen.