‘What are we going to do?’ he said.
Patricia, not entirely unperturbed, said, ‘Well, see who it is, I suppose.’
****
Stemper returned to Sussex, calling first at the farmhouse. As he might have predicted, the burnt-out car had gone. A chance to intercept Robert Scott – and possibly the other member of the gang – had been squandered.
His next stop was Robert Scott’s apartment. The building was a dark, Gothic pile, one of several in the street: a cluster of Transylvanian mansions transported to a seaside resort. At the communal entrance he buzzed several numbers at random and someone duly released the door.
He was in a decidedly positive mood as he climbed the stairs. After the misstep on Saturday afternoon he had brought the operation back on track. The ultimate prize, he felt sure, was very close now.
No answer at the flat. There was only a single lock, easily bumped. Once inside, a quick check to ensure he was alone, and then the proper search could begin.
Kitchen, living room, bathroom: all unremarkable. A guest bedroom, occupied until very recently by the look of it. The tenant had been a drug-user, a devotee of cheap booze and junk food. The sense of a hasty abandonment troubled him slightly.
The master bedroom offered limited reassurance – plenty of clothes in the wardrobe – but in the en-suite bathroom he found an expensive suit, torn and dirty and soiled with blood. Another cause for concern – until he saw the opportunity it presented.
There was a moderately secure floor safe, probably a 3k-cash rating. Stemper didn’t have the equipment to open it, but in any case it didn’t look large enough for the volume of paperwork he was expecting to find.
A moment later he spotted two document boxes on top of the wardrobe. Both empty. He took a photo of them with his phone, then called Gordon Blake.
‘I’m sending you a picture of something.’
‘Oh yes?’ A strange wry tone to Gordon’s voice.
‘I’m at the apartment. No sign of the owner, or the paperwork, but I’m certain he has it. I may have to wait here and question him when he comes back.’
Gordon gave a joyous laugh. ‘There’s really no need.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He’s already here.’
Stemper exhaled slowly. Discretion forgotten, he said, ‘
Robert Scott
is there, with you?’
‘Correct,’ Gordon said. ‘Only I think he prefers “Robbie”.’
Cate felt sure her captor’s abrupt departure spelled trouble. He’d seemed confused by what she said about Martin, which suggested that the man who had abducted her was keeping secrets from his accomplices.
She heard low voices outside the room, and then a distant knocking. She felt a leap of hope: she could cry for help.
Unless it was one of the gang?
Worth the risk. She wriggled forward, straining to make out the variations of light through the blindfold. She had a sliver of vision if she looked directly below her. She used it to guide her off the bed, and then across the room in a slow shuffle. She reached the door and was paralysed by fear and indecision. Should she shout, scream, what?
Too late. She heard urgent footsteps along the landing. The door opened and Cate twisted away from a large, powerful presence; her nostrils filling with that cloying flowery scent. So it was the woman this time. It was the woman who grabbed Cate by the throat and forced her back on to the bed. It was the woman who tied her ankles together and lashed them to the bed frame. It was the woman who stuffed a cloth into her mouth, sealed it with tape and snarled: ‘Don’t make a sound, you skinny little bitch, or I’ll kill you myself.’
****
Dan hated having to approach his boss for a favour so soon after their meeting. But Willie Denham was happy to grant his request for an extended lunch, especially when Dan explained that a friend of his was in trouble.
He jumped on a bus to Western Road, then ran up the hill to Cate’s home. After he’d knocked and called through the letter box several times, an elderly woman emerged from the house next door and told him that Cate was probably at work.
‘Did you see her leave this morning?’
‘Sorry, just got in myself. But where else would she be on a Monday morning?’
His next stop was Compton’s. As soon as he pushed through the door he sensed an air of crisis. Teresa Scott was deep in conference with Robbie’s colleague, Indira, but broke off when she spotted Dan.
‘Hello! This is a surprise.’
‘I’m trying to get hold of Cate.’
He saw a little bloom of hope wither in her eyes. ‘So are we. We’ve had the police here, looking for her. DS Thomsett.’
Dan kept his expression neutral. ‘What did he want?’
‘Something to do with Martin. Did you hear ...?’
‘Yes. Dreadful.’
Teresa nodded, as eager as Dan was to return the focus to Cate. ‘I have a spare key, and I’ve been round to the house. There’s no sign of her. When we spoke this morning she said she was late for work, and was coming to see me at lunchtime. I don’t see why she’d lie.’
‘Me neither. So she’s been reported missing?’
‘DS Thomsett says it’s still a bit soon to make it official, but he did say they’d be paying a visit to Janine’s brother.’
Dan was shocked. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Some bonkers theory that Cate was trying to lure Martin back. Janine’s been hysterical about it, so it’s just possible that one of her family ...’ Teresa tailed off. ‘Sorry, love, I’m scaring you.’
But it was herself she was scaring, and they could all see it. Indira put an arm around her and said, ‘Could be she’s just gone off to get some space.’
‘She’s not answering her phone,’ Dan pointed out.
‘Unless the battery died?’ Teresa said. ‘I know mine always packs up at the most inconvenient time.’
She had been toying with a box of Marlboro Lights, unconsciously teasing a cigarette from the pack; now she noticed and crossly pushed it away. To Dan, she said, ‘I don’t suppose you know where Robbie is?’
‘What?’ It was almost a yelp. ‘Do you mean he’s missing as well?’
‘No. Just being an awkward sod, ignoring his messages. Probably up to no good, as usual ...’
Dan raised an eyebrow; playing dumb.
‘His floozies,’ Teresa said, and Indira went tight-lipped and wouldn’t meet Dan’s eye.
He said, ‘I’ll try and find him.’
‘Can you? Not that he’ll be much help, but he may know something.’
Dan agreed, thinking:
Damn right Robbie knows something
. He knew what Hank O’Brien had been hiding. He knew what that information was worth, and he knew who wanted it.
And Dan was going to force him to reveal it all.
****
It was an infatuation, as far as Gordon was concerned, though he had no intention of describing it in such terms, least of all to Patricia.
While she had hovered anxiously on the stairs, he’d checked from a window in the hall, then exclaimed, ‘I think it’s the brother. Robert Scott.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Well, we’ve only seen the Facebook picture, but that’s who it resembles.’
‘And he’s alone?’ When he nodded, Patricia had shook her head and muttered, ‘He can’t know we’ve got his sister. He simply can’t.’
‘Then why is he here?’
Her face was slowly transformed by a smile. ‘Only one possible reason. Open up.’
Gordon braced himself, but it was evident at once that the man on their doorstep had no violent intent. He was wearing a navy pinstripe suit: probably Italian tailoring, and rather too narrow in the cut for Gordon’s taste, but undeniably a very smart, appropriate style for a young man in such great shape.
What the Facebook portrait hadn’t revealed was that Robert Scott was, to use a common phrase,
drop-dead gorgeous
. He had a killer-watt smile, too. And a good handshake: dry, firm, strong.
‘Gordon Blake?’ he said. ‘I’m Robbie Scott.’
Just in time, Gordon remembered that he shouldn’t know who Robert was. He allowed his hand to be pumped and then, looking suitably mystified, said, ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’ve come about your little problem. With Templeton Wynne. I thought maybe I could discuss it with you and ... er, Patricia, if she’s available?’
‘I’m here,’ Patricia said, and while Gordon went on faking confusion she stepped forward and offered her hand. ‘Sounds fascinating. Please do come in. My husband will sort out refreshments, if you’ll just excuse me for a moment.’
She was well ahead of them in reaching the kitchen, emerging again as Gordon led Robbie through. He couldn’t see what she was holding behind her back, but from her discreet nod he guessed it had something to do with ensuring Cate’s silence.
She was gone for a couple of minutes, leaving Gordon to spew out some routine babble about the local housing market. Robbie introduced himself as a property developer and letting agent from a Brighton-based company. The way he described it you’d think the company was his, rather than his mother’s, which Gordon found highly amusing.
No sooner had he made the coffee than the phone rang. A look from Patricia:
You answer it
. She was keen to get to know Mr Scott herself.
Gordon took the call in the living room. It was Stemper, reporting that Robbie wasn’t at home. Gordon derived great pleasure from revealing that they knew precisely where he could be found.
Sounding disgruntled, Stemper said, ‘That’s a bold move on his part.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Gordon was tempted to spring a question about this Martin chap, but knew he had to discuss it with Patricia first.
‘Shall I come up—?’ Stemper began. ‘Actually, no. Better that he’s unaware of my existence.’
‘That’s what we thought,’ Gordon said, and wanted to add:
We’re not complete morons, Patricia and I
.
****
Robbie felt supremely confident. He liked this large, cosy house, nestled in the Surrey hills, and he liked these people, the Blakes, far more than he had expected to. He sensed kindred spirits here.
In the case of Patricia, Robbie couldn’t recall when he’d last been in the presence of such a strong, incisive personality. Formidable, and yet still appreciably feminine. To Robbie it was like encountering some weird combination of ideal mother figure, naughty aunt, mentor and femme fatale.
‘Fantastic coffee,’ he said, smiling at Gordon, and then he got down to business. ‘And it was a fantastic plan, too. With one massive flaw.’
Gordon, who was openly basking in the compliment, said, ‘Oh?’
‘Hank had far too much power over you. The proof is that I’m sitting here now, in possession of everything I need to know about your scheme.’
They conceded the point, nodding sagely. It impressed Robbie that they were content for him to take the floor like this; not butting in or trying to impose their views. Smart, considerate people.
He said, ‘And Hank was wise to that gofer of yours, too. This guy Jerry.’
Gordon frowned, gave Patricia a wary glance, and she said, ‘Jerry wasn’t up to scratch, it’s true. We’ve now dispensed with his services.’
Her husband added, ‘You’re remarkably well-informed, Mr Scott.’
Robbie took another mouthful of coffee. ‘Hank kept a journal, along with all the paperwork he’d collected. It told me all about you two, all about Templeton Wynne, and how Hank insisted on keeping the evidence so you couldn’t cut him out of the deal.’
‘Well, that’s a moot point,’ Patricia said, ‘since Hank was so cruelly taken from us.’
‘Yeah, I heard about that. Knocked down by a car or something, wasn’t he?’
Silence for a moment, all three of them smiling, nobody saying what they thought. Robbie felt sure they’d have at least a suspicion of his involvement, but this was all part of the game: a little test of nerves.
Finally Patricia tipped her head. ‘Apparently so.’
‘A tragic loss,’ Gordon said.
‘Certainly is. Because you didn’t just need him to gather the evidence against this Templeton guy. You two have history with him, yeah?’ Robbie waited, and got a somewhat grudging nod from Gordon. ‘Much better if Hank made the demand on your behalf, set up the payments and all the rest of it.’ He stopped, cocking his head. ‘How was that gonna happen, by the way?’
‘My word, there’s something you don’t know!’ Patricia said, gently mocking.
Robbie grinned, leaned forward and contrived to brush his fingertips over the back of her hand. ‘There’s actually quite a lot I don’t know. But I can put on a very convincing performance.’
Gordon snorted. If he’d noted Robbie’s move, he didn’t seem unduly concerned about it.
‘Offshore accounts,’ he said. ‘A whole network of shell companies in different territories around the world. Within an hour of Templeton’s payment hitting the first account, the money will be utterly beyond retrieval by anyone but us.’
‘So there’s no physical handover of cash?’
Patricia laughed gaily. ‘Oh, Robert, do you have any idea how much space fifty million pounds would take up?’
‘We’d need a damn truck,’ Gordon said. ‘And then what do we do with it? Cash is toxic these days.’
‘Absolutely.’ Robbie was nodding briskly. ‘No, that’s a good system.’
‘You mean you approve?’ Patricia asked, coquettishly enough that Robbie risked another touch, a slightly longer contact this time.
‘I do. Because it means you don’t have to worry about me running off with more than my fair share.’
At this, Gordon looked like he dearly wanted to take Robbie down a notch or two, but Patricia was still smiling warmly.
‘Your suggestion being ...?’
‘Let me screw the fifty mil out of Templeton.’
Gordon spluttered: ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It makes perfect sense.’ Robbie beamed at them both. ‘I’m your new frontman.’
Dan took a bus back to work, alternately trying Robbie and Cate’s numbers and getting no response from either. At the shop, he learned that Denham was out. He found Hayley at the till.