Ruth Galloway (60 page)

‘What now?' asks Nelson.

‘We trust to the flow?' suggests Cathbad.

Luckily for Cathbad's continuing existence, Nelson's phone rings at that moment. He snatches it up. Number unknown.

The voice, though, is very well-known indeed.

‘Nelson?'

‘Ruth!'

Her voice sounds high and strained, like someone much younger. She speaks without pausing or allowing him to answer.

‘Nelson, you have to call off the investigation or he'll kill our baby and me too. He's serious, he's the real ringslinger. Please Nelson. Save our baby. I can't tell you where we are. Please Horatio. Save us.'

The phone is clicked off.

Nelson is shaking. He tries to dial the station, get them to trace the call, but his fingers just won't work. Cathbad grabs his arm.

‘What did she say?'

Nelson just shakes his head. His baby, his unknown beloved baby is in danger. And Ruth – headstrong, feisty Ruth – sounding like a child herself. Ruth, who could be about to die.

‘You've got to remember her exact words,' Cathbad tells
him sternly. ‘Tell me and I'll write them down. Come on, Harry. You can't go to pieces now.'

Dully, Nelson relates Ruth's exact words. They sound odd but he is pretty sure that he has remembered them correctly. Cathbad writes them down while Nelson rings the station, trying to get a trace on the call.

When he has finished, he looks at Cathbad who is squatting down, frowning at the dirty scrap of paper in front of him. To Nelson's relief, he doesn't mention the ‘our baby' part, instead he says, ‘“He's the real ringslinger”. What did she mean by that?'

‘I don't know.'

‘And why did she call you Horatio? Is Harry short for Horatio?'

‘No.'

‘She's giving us a clue,' says Cathbad. ‘Well done, Ruth. Attagirl. We just have to work it out. Ringslinger. Ringslinger. There was a Hroerekr Ringslinger, a mythical king of Denmark. Erik used to talk about him.'

‘What was his name?' It sounds like gargling to Nelson.

‘Hroerekr. Roderick in English.'

‘
What?
'

Cathbad looks up in surprise.

‘That's it!' shouts Nelson. ‘She's telling us that it's Roderick. Sir Roderick Spens.'

Briefly, he tells Cathbad about the Spens family. When he gets to the part about Annabelle Spens, Cathbad stops him.

‘What was the boat called?'

‘
Lady Annabelle
.'

‘Could it belong to the Spens family?'

‘Of course! Max Grey is a friend of Edward Spens. He told me when I interviewed him. Edward must have lent him the boat. That's why Ruth called me Horatio. To remind me of the other Nelson. The famous one. The Admiral. She's telling us that she's on a boat.'

‘And what about Max Grey?' asks Cathbad. ‘Where's he got to?'

‘I'm here,' says a voice at their feet.

… The infant screams and keeps on screaming. Even the knife in her chest doesn't seem to stop her. Clearly the child is possessed of an evil spirit. Closing my eyes and muttering a prayer to the Lady, I stab and stab. When I open my eyes there is blood over the bed, the walls, everything.

She is dead but the screaming goes on.

‘Why did you call him Horatio?'

‘Harry's short for Horatio,' lies Ruth. ‘He doesn't like people to know. I called him that so he would know it was me.'

Roderick nods, satisfied. Ruth holds her breath, hoping that he doesn't query ‘ringslinger' but perhaps Roderick regards it as an example of young people's slang (he has already lectured Ruth at length on the decline of literacy amongst the youth of today) because he doesn't comment further. Ruth knows it's a long shot but maybe Nelson would be sufficiently intrigued to Google Ringslinger and find the Danish king, the grandfather, according to Erik, of Hamlet. Cathbad would have known, she thinks, but she has no idea where Cathbad is.

‘You're a fallen woman,' says Roderick chattily, removing the knife from Ruth's neck. ‘Just like the Irish whore.'

Ruth says nothing. If she hadn't been tied up, she would have kicked him in the balls.

‘You knew Nelson was married but you still lay with him. You're a whore.'

‘If you say so.'

‘Well,' says Roderick as if they have just finished a cosy chat over the cucumber sandwiches, ‘I'd better get back to the helm.'

*

Max is, in fact, sitting in a dinghy. With the ease of long practice, he ties the boat to the landing stage and scrambles ashore.

‘I think Roderick Spens has kidnapped Ruth,' he says. ‘I went to the site this morning. I though she might be there, to see the Janus Stone, but it was deserted. I was going to ring you but I got a call from the boatyard to say that someone had taken the
Lady Annabelle.
An elderly man. He was loading something heavy on board. They thought it was suspicious
.'

‘Did they say where he was going?' asks Cathbad.

Max looks dubiously at Cathbad, whose purple cloak is wet and muddy from the trek along the river bank.

‘Cathbad's helping with the enquiry,' says Nelson brusquely. ‘We need to know Ruth's whereabouts. We think she's in serious danger.'

Max still looks suspicious but he answers quickly enough,

‘ They said he was asking about the height of Potter Heigham Bridge.'

Nelson and Cathbad look at him blankly.

‘It's a bridge over the Thurne,' says Max. ‘Very low. Lots of boats get stuck. If they're going that way, I think they're heading for Horsey Mere. The Spens family have got a cottage there.'

More blank looks.

‘It's a little-known stretch of waterway,' says Max, ‘on the North Rivers.'

‘Which way will he go?' asks Nelson.

Max points to the fork in the water. ‘If he's going to the North Rivers, he'll go that way. Along the Yare to Yarmouth.'

‘Can we catch him at Yarmouth?'

Max looks at his watch. ‘The boatyard said he went past at four o'clock. He'll be through Yarmouth by now.'

Nelson looks at his watch. It is half past seven.

‘Can we catch them by road?' he asks. ‘I drive fast.'

Max shakes his head. ‘Our best bet is to try to get to Potter Heigham before them. He'll have to take the canopy off the boat before it can get under the bridge. That'll slow them down a bit.'

‘Let's go then,' says Nelson.

*

The boat is moving. The rocking motion becomes unpleasantly violent and Ruth is afraid that she will be sick. She can't be sick. She needs to escape from this lunatic with his frightening Victorian language and his terrifyingly modern knife. He killed his own child, now he wants to kill her baby. Well Ruth is not about to let that happen.

If she can just get across to the other side of the boat, she can reach the kitchen cabinet where there are sure to be knives and other sharp implements. It's so close, just an arm's length away. If she can get herself free, she thinks she should be a match for Roderick Spens, knife and all.

Gingerly, she rolls over so that her legs, tied tightly together, are on the floor. Then, without warning, she is hit by a wave of nausea so intense that she knows she must be sick. It is awful having her hands tied behind her back because she can't move her hair out of the way. All she can do is tilt
her head as far away as possible so that the vomit doesn't land on her feet. She continues to retch feebly until her stomach is empty and then she lies back on the bench with her eyes shut. She hopes that Roderick hasn't heard her but the noise of the engine is surprisingly loud. She realises that they must be travelling fast. If so, that might be a good thing. It might alert the river police, other sailors, anyone.

She lies still, listening. Above the engine noise, she can hear Sir Roderick singing snatches of opera. Nutcase. Slowly she slides her legs over again and tries to stand. Another spasm of nausea grips her stomach but she isn't sick again. She waits, breathing hard, and then, holding on to the edge of the table behind her, starts to hop towards the knives.

*

They find Sir Roderick's car by the boatyard. This is hardly difficult as it is a maroon Rolls Royce with the licence plate SPENS2.

‘Jesus,' says Nelson. ‘He was hardly travelling incognito.'

‘He's not supposed to drive at all,' says Max. ‘Edward says he has Alzheimer's.'

‘Edward is wrong,' Nelson tells him.

Max chews his lip. ‘Even so, Sir Roderick has always been strange. When we were at university, Edward used to mention his father doing odd things. Being obsessed with certain Roman gods, offering sacrifices and such like. He once broke into Fishbourne Roman Palace and started strewing herbs and flowers around. Edward used to worry about him.'

‘With good reason,' says Nelson. ‘I'll get some uniforms down to look at the car. I'll call the river police too.'

‘They're going to the North Rivers,' says Max.

‘So?'

‘The river police don't cover the North Rivers. There's a ranger but they've only got one car and they don't work at night.'

‘Jesus.' Nelson raises his eyes to the heavens and curses the day that he ever heard of Norfolk, the river, or Ruth Galloway. Max watches him narrowly. ‘Come on,' he says at last, ‘we've got to get to Potter Heigham before they do.'

*

Three hops and she's there. She leans against the sink, feeling ill and faint. Her head aches, presumably where Roderick whacked it with his ‘perfectly serviceable' torch. Probably right on the spot where she hit it once before, when Roderick left a model foetus in the trench as a ‘warning'. If she gets out of this alive, she swears she is going to kill him.

Opening the sink drawer with no hands will be the next problem. She looks around for anything sharp left lying around but everything is irritatingly tidy. Damn Max and his anal archaeologist habits. Where
is
Max anyhow? How come Roderick has got his boat? The truly dreadful thought, which has been hovering at the back of her mind for hours, now pops, fully formed, to the surface. What if Max is in league with Sir Roderick? After all, Max and Edward Spens were friends at university. Max could easily have helped Roderick leave those grisly offerings at the site. Max could even have given him the idea. He is another classicist, another fan of the Roman gods. He knows all about Hecate, all about Janus and Nemesis and the rest of the bad guys. Could Max really be plotting to kill her?

No, it can't be true. Max came back because he was drawn
to the place where he had lived with Elizabeth. No. She mustn't let herself think like that. Roderick must be acting alone. He is mad enough, God knows.

But where
is
Max?

The drawer has an obligingly protruding handle. Ruth bends down and takes it firmly between her teeth. Then she pulls. It's surprising how much it hurts but the drawer opens and inside Ruth can see at least three sharp knives, one with wonderful serrated edges. She turns round, trying to get her bound hands into the drawer.

‘Oh no you don't,' says a voice behind her.

*

When they reach the car, mist descends. Literally, one minute they can see the car parked precariously on the river bank, see Reedham behind them and the unmade-up road in front and the next, nothing. Just thick white fog, billowing up in clouds from the water, leaving them, seemingly, alone in the world.

‘River mist,' says Max. ‘Comes down in seconds.'

‘This will make it easier for Spens to avoid detection,' says Nelson.

Max nods. ‘You can't see a thing on the river in a fog like this.'

‘Is it safe to drive a boat?'

‘You don't drive a boat.'

Nelson snorts impatiently and Max hurries on to say, ‘No. When visibility's this poor, you shouldn't be on the water at all.'

There is a silence where they all think of Roderick – old, unpractised, almost certainly mad – sailing, in a thick fog,
towards a low bridge and dangerous waters, with Ruth on board.

‘Come on,' says Nelson. ‘We've got to catch him.'

The journey to Potter Heigham, with visibility down to a few metres, is a terrifying one. Nelson can't see Max who is in the back, the subordinate's seat, but Cathbad seems perfectly calm, even, at one point, closing his eyes. Nelson himself is rigid with tension. He has to rescue Ruth. He can't let himself even contemplate the idea that he may be too late.

They almost drive straight past the boatyard, which is set back from the road, a long low jetty surrounded by boats. Nelson gets out of the car and immediately steps in a muddy puddle.

‘Jesus.'

‘We're right by the bridge here,' says Max, nimbly avoiding the water. He gestures but they can see nothing, only thick grey clouds merging with the grey water. The lights from the boatyard are hazy and spectral, will-o'-the wisps in the fog.

At first, the boatman refuses to let them rent a boat.

‘Visibility's too bad. You'll never get through the bridge or see the posts on the other side.'

‘Post markers,' Max explains, ‘they tell you which way to go. Towards the sea it's red on the right, green on the left.'

Nelson impatiently waves his warrant card in the boatman's face. ‘Police. We have a trained pilot with us.'

‘Helmsman,' mutters Max.

The boatman still looks worried but he leads them along the river bank. A dozen low, white boats are chained to mooring posts. They look flimsy in the extreme, just two seats in front
and two at the back, low in the water, more like remote control toys than anything built for full-size adults.

‘They're electric,' says Max, seeing their faces, ‘ideal for this stretch of water.'