The Power of One (13 page)

Finally, after what seemed like hours but was probably no more than twenty or so minutes, he heard them leaving the wood. Moments later two vehicles drove away. They had taken his car.

Tim lay still for a little longer, fearing that they might come back or that there might have been more than the two men; that they may have left someone else on watch. Then, slowly, he eased himself off the ground and looked back towards the road.

Nothing moved. He waited, then cautiously, keeping very low to the ground, he moved away and through the wood, into the fields beyond. Standing in the shadow of the trees he gazed down on to the shifting, grey-black water of the bay. He could see the narrow ribbon of the road, appearing here and there beyond the demarcation line of hedge and trees and the lights of the upper end of Frantham Old Town before it was swallowed by the cut between the fields and dropped down towards the inlet.

He checked again but nothing moved on the road.

Keeping close to the treeline he trotted towards the cliff edge, not sure what line the cliff path took at this point, reluctant to cross the open field. The hedge sheltered him on the field perimeter, but gave no access that he could see on to the path. He tried his phone, shielding the sudden brightness of the screen with his hand, panicking in case someone should see, the blue backlight seeming so unnaturally bright.

No signal. He checked again a little further on. To his relief the little bar across the top of the screen showed two slim points.

To his further relief, Mac replied on the second ring.

‘Mac. I'm in trouble, Mac. I'm going to try and make it to the boathouse. Please, get to Rina, make sure the family are OK. Someone just tried to run me off the road.'

He listened to Mac's anxious response and demands for information.

‘Please, Mac. I daren't talk. I'll get to the boathouse.'

He switched off his phone, terrified that Mac might call back and the ring be heard, knowing how well sound carried by night and unable, in his fear, to remember how to switch the phone to silent. Finding a gap in the hedge that he thought he could push through, he looked back for one last time and then forced the hedge aside, almost fell on to the cliff path, then ran, horribly aware of how narrow the path was, how loud the ocean sounded as it crashed upon the rocks below. Every moment he expected to see someone step out of the shadows in front of him, or to slip on the narrow path and fall over the edge. Tim, who hated heights and especially heights above water, looked straight ahead, watching for the lights of Frantham Old Town to come into view.

F
itch was considering his options. The red car had moved up the queue of traffic and was now directly behind. Joy had managed to take the number down and was straining to see the driver and the passenger.

Any moment, she expected the passenger to produce a gun, for the car to ram them from behind, to … she didn't know, but something. She figured that the fact they were in a four-wheel drive probably dissuaded the driver from ramming them. He'd be as likely to wedge himself as to do damage to their Range Rover and, she figured, if they shot Fitch, then having a vehicle go out of control directly in front of them in the middle lane might be as likely to take them out as the Range Rover. Rationalize it though she might, Joy was still very scared.

‘Hold tight,' Fitch said. A line of lorries packed close in the slow lane. Fitch had spotted a gap between two just big enough for them to fit between. He swerved suddenly, a manoeuvre accompanied by a furious sounding of horns, then as abruptly took the slip road that Joy had not even realised was coming up.

Apparently, neither had the driver of the red car. Joy turned and stared back out of the rear window. The driver was desperately searching for the means to get from the middle lane and on to the slip, but Fitch had timed it to perfection.

‘Yes! We lost them.' Joy was momentarily exultant and then the doubts crowded in. ‘I thought you said we were safer on the motorway.'

‘And so we are. They still asleep in the back? Good.' At the top of the slip road was a roundabout. Fitch slowed, waited for a gap. At this time of night traffic was light and he didn't even pull to a full stop. He took them part way round the island then, flicking on the hazard lights, pulled over on to the verge.

‘You're letting them get ahead?'

‘I'm letting them get ahead,' Fitch confirmed. He was watching in his mirrors but there was no sign of anyone following them off the motorway. Amateurs then, or overstretched, Fitch thought. He'd have had a second car, hanging back and unobtrusive, just to pick up the tail. He was troubled though, the way the two men had been so obvious that even Joy – and no offence to Joy; she was sharper than most people – had spotted them. It was almost as though they had been acting as a diversion, which made Fitch question, diversion from what? Or was he just being exceptionally paranoid and the men in the car just exceptionally stupid.

‘Can you reach Lydia's phone?'

‘It's in her bag. Yes.'

‘I need Edward's too.'

‘Edward's what?' a sleepy voice asked.

Joy leaned round her seat and put a finger on her lips. ‘Hush, don't wake Lydia.'

‘What's going on? Why have we stopped?'

‘I'll explain as we go,' Fitch said. ‘But I need your phone.'

‘It's flat,' Edward said apologetically. ‘I think Lydia's is …'

‘No,' Fitch said. ‘Edward, just trust me and give me your phone.'

Frowning, clearly dubious, Edward handed it over.

‘Now what?' Joy said.

‘Throw them out of the car,' Fitch instructed.

‘What? You can't.' Edward protested, but Joy had already opened her window and dropped the phones to the ground. Fitch switched off the hazards, indicated and pulled away.

‘What the hell do you think you're doing?' Edward was furious now.

‘We were being followed,' Fitch said as he took the slip road back to the motorway. ‘I think you'd been bugged.'

Miriam had arrived at the boathouse only minutes before Tim. Puzzled by why Mac should be knocking at his own door, she trotted down the boathouse stairs and put the door on the chain before opening it.

‘Miriam, it's Tim. For god's sake let me in. Please.'

‘Tim?' She closed the door, took off the chain and then opened it wide and he almost fell inside.

‘Now lock the door. Has Mac called? He should be here.'

‘He doesn't know I'd be coming tonight. I said I might stay over at my sister's place but … well I changed my mind. Tim, you are covered in mud and leaves and … what the hell is going on? Come on upstairs, I'll give him a call.'

Tim followed her upstairs and then stood awkwardly in Mac's living room, shedding mud and leaves all over the bleached boards. Suddenly he was shaking. Fatigue and shock vying for domination.

‘Sit,' Miriam ordered, pointing to one of the wooden dining chairs. ‘Sit down before you fall down. And what on earth have you done to your arm?'

As though her noticing it allowed Tim to take notice, it started to hurt. Tim pulled up what was left of his sleeve and looked. Dimly, he recalled that when he'd thrown himself from the car he'd hit the ground on his right side, felt the sleeve tear and the burning sensation as he'd scraped the ground with his bare skin.

‘Gravel rash, I guess,' he said, examining the mass of cuts and tears and painful grazes. ‘I'm sorry, Miriam, I'm dripping blood all over the floor.'

She opened a drawer and grabbed a clean tea towel. ‘Let me see. Here, wrap this round it. That must be Mac,' she added as the street door opened.

Tim felt himself tense. What if it wasn't? Two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs, then Mac appeared through the hole in the floor, followed by a man Tim vaguely recognised as DI Kendal.

‘Before you ask, Rina is fine,' Mac said. ‘Now, just what happened to you?'

Fitch had called ahead and the gates were opening as they arrived. Fitch watched them close behind as the Range Rover passed through, two of Bridie Duggan's men in attendance, scrutinizing the road outside.

Bridie was waiting at the front door. She came running out to meet them, a woman who looked like an older version of Joy, but with brighter lips and shorter hair. She hugged her daughter, then hugged Fitch, held out her hands to Lydia and Edward. ‘Come along in. Fitch, are you sure you're all OK? We've been worried sick.'

‘I'm not convinced we lost our tail,' Fitch said. ‘Red car was on the hard shoulder a few miles further on. We figure they were waiting for us and someone else picked up where they left off. I didn't make anyone, but …'

‘Well, you're here now,' Bridie said. ‘That's what matters. Now, Lydia, Edward, how about I give you the grand tour. Show you our security system and then give you some supper and let you get some sleep. You must be exhausted.' She led the pair of them away and Fitch grinned at Joy.

‘Your mother,' he said affectionately.

‘My mother,' Joy agreed. ‘I need a drink, Fitch, and I don't mean soft. Join me?'

He nodded. ‘Sure you're all right?'

‘I'm all right, but I don't mind admitting I was bloody terrified back there. You pour, I'll phone Rina, let them know it's all fine.'

‘She'll probably be asleep,' Fitch pointed out.

‘And if I don't call her she won't forgive me. I'll only disturb her beauty sleep for a minute.'

But when Joy called, Rina was wide awake and Joy soon found that they were not the only ones to have had a troubled night.

I
conograph
, the company owned by the de Freitas's, was not based in the most beautiful of buildings. Built on what had been wasteland between the Tin Huts and the old military base, it was a single story, prefabricated construct of steel and what Mac thought of as blue cladding. The entrance was all glass and chrome, leading into a surprisingly comfortable lobby with a surprisingly ancient desk set directly facing the door. The mix of the antique with the modern had been continued in the seating; comfortable, easy chairs that might, Mac thought, have looked more at home in a gentleman's club. Around the walls were pictures of people Mac vaguely recognised. Scientific pioneers and inventors, together with their technologies. Some, like Brunel, were familiar and much reproduced. Others, like the earnest-looking man standing proudly beside what looked to Mac like a steam-powered aeroplane, looked so absurd he wondered if they were from one of the games they developed rather than scientific history.

In fact, looking round, there was little here to do with software development or fantasy. He said so. Andy grinned at him.

‘Oh, you should have come to the open day. Rina did,' he added. ‘Um, Mrs Martin, I mean. This is just the R&D side, the software development that happens on site is in the old army base. They've started renovating some of the buildings and they've restored some of the others.'

‘True,' Kendal confirmed. ‘Unlike some locals, I did come to the open day.' He looked smug and Mac pretended to scowl back at him. ‘Seriously, what they've achieved in just a few months is unbelievable. They've got temporary accommodation for some of their workers in what used to be the command centre.'

‘Can't be very comfortable,' Mac commented.

‘Oh, that's where you're wrong. You see, there was only really the shell of the place left. What they've done is gut out what was left and rebuild inside with these modular units they've shipped over from Scandinavia somewhere. Each little unit is insulated, high tech, very space age. And as most of the workforce they've brought with them is young and male and single, I guess it works out OK.'

‘Not much for locals, then,' Mac said slightly huffily. ‘The problem with most of these new enterprises is they don't provide decent local jobs.'

‘Ah but that's where you're wrong Inspector McGregor.'

The woman's voice, amused and not the least bit insulted by his slights, surprised them all. Mac turned to see a dark-haired woman in her thirties walking towards them, hand extended and a bright smile on her round, plumply pretty face.

‘Amelia Turner,' she introduced herself. ‘I'm Edward's PA, he said I should give you any help I can. Mr Jackson is already here, by the way.'

‘Of course he is,' Kendal muttered darkly.

Mac fell into step beside Amelia Turner. ‘So far,' she said, ‘we've employed thirty local people in a mix of part-time and full-time jobs and in a variety of roles from cleaners to technical supervisors. Edward is really keen to source as much of the workforce locally as he can. That was one of the conditions of the build and anyway, he feels strongly that this is where he and Lydia want to put down roots.' She frowned. ‘Paul too,' she added. ‘He loved it here.'

‘You knew him well?'

She laughed. ‘Only as a work colleague, but he was a good man to work with, we all liked him and he'd sometimes meet up with everyone for a drink after work. Edward isn't like that. He's a more formal soul.'

‘I gathered that,' Mac said. ‘Edward described his brother as, well I suppose as a people person. Would you agree with that?'

‘Oh, yes, I really would. Paul enjoyed people; Edward wants to get along with everyone and, don't get me wrong, he's great to work for, but he doesn't have the same easy way with him as Paul did. You know though, I think it worked out. Paul was great at the meet and greet and the schmoozing. Edward was a bulldog when it came to getting the right deal.'

‘So Paul softened them up and Edward went for the jugular,' Andy said.

Amused, she turned to look at him. ‘I wouldn't have put it quite like that.'

‘He's young,' Mac said. ‘A bit lacking in the social graces.'

Amelia laughed. She had a nice laugh, warm and genuine. ‘My office,' she said, indicating the next door. She held it open for them. ‘And Edward's office off there,' she indicated a second door. ‘And down that little corridor. That was Paul's domain.'