The Price of Failure (18 page)

‘You are.'

‘And that is what you also said to Sergeant Wyatt?'

‘It is.'

‘Why did you lie?'

‘Embarrassment.'

‘Explain.'

‘I became more and more desperate as Gloria's depression deepened. One day, my mother rang and she guessed that something was very wrong and asked what was the trouble. I told her. She immediately said she'd lend me the money. I tried to refuse, but…' He became silent.

‘The circumstances being as you've described them, why did you think of refusing?'

‘After my father died, my mother was left with only a little capital and her pension. If she lent me three thousand, obviously her income would go down. Not by much, but when one's not well off to begin with, a little becomes a lot … I decided I couldn't tell Gloria the truth because she knew what my mother's financial position was and the knowledge that because of her my mother would have to make do with even less must inevitably upset her, maybe even to the extent that it would negate any value the move gave. So I told her I'd obtained a second mortgage – there was no way she'd find out that that was a lie while she was in the nursing home. And once I'd told her that, I couldn't give the sarge a different version in case he mentioned it to Freda and Freda spoke about it to Gloria.'

‘Do you have any objection to my confirming the loan with your mother?'

‘I object like hell.'

‘Why?'

‘She would hate to think that the news had become public property.'

‘Hardly very public. In any case, you know how we work.'

‘You feel just about as much loyalty for your DCs as Maxwell did for his pensioners.'

‘Cut that out,' Wyatt said sharply.

‘I can be accused of tying in with a mob of raping, torturing, murdering bastards, but I'm not allowed even to criticize my accuser?'

‘No one's accused you of anything.'

‘You've brought me here for the pleasure of my company?'

‘Let me put the question slightly differently,' said Hoskin. ‘Will you agree to my telephoning your mother and asking her to confirm what you've just told us concerning the loan?'

‘Have I an option? If I don't, presumably you'll arrest me.'

‘What is the number?'

He gave it.

Hoskin dialled. ‘Mrs Carr, this is Inspector Hoskin … Indeed, I remember … My wife is fine, thanks very much. Would you … That's very kind of you. I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but circumstances make it necessary and I can assure you that your answer will be treated as confidentially as possible. Have you in the past two or three months lent your son any money?… Exactly how much?… I understand the improvement in Mrs Carr was little short of miraculous … No, I'm afraid I haven't seen the baby yet … Thank you very much for your help … And I look forward to meeting you again, Mrs Carr. Goodbye.' He replaced the receiver. ‘Your mother confirms that she lent you three thousand pounds.'

‘That must disappoint you.'

‘When one is in command, one sometimes has to do something that one would very much rather not. It was my duty to question you, whatever my personal feelings, first because certain facts had to be explained, far more importantly to discover if you knew anything that might give a lead to the identity or the whereabouts of the kidnappers.'

‘It obviously didn't occur to you that if I had, I'd have rushed to tell you.'

‘I can only repeat what I've just said.'

There was silence.

‘Is that all?' Carr asked.

‘For the moment.'

He left. He found it impossible to judge how far they had believed him.

25

When Carr awoke, the bedroom was in half light, and, convinced he'd slept through the alarm, he jumped out of bed. Only then did he check the time to discover there was a quarter of an hour before he need get up. He crossed to the window and pulled the curtain; during the night, there had been a fall of snow.

He went through to the nursery where Gloria was sleeping so that she could soothe and feed Timothy without his being woken, kissed her good morning, looked into the cot at the sleeping baby, said: ‘It's snowed during the night.'

‘The forecast last night mentioned snow showers.'

‘From up here it looks much heavier than that. You can't tell where the flower beds end and the lawn begins.'

‘So what's different?'

‘I'll treat that with the contempt it deserves.'

‘Never mind, my love, even if you aren't an enthusiastic gardener, you're a perfect husband.'

‘For that, I'm your slave. So can I cook you eggs and bacon?'

‘Perhaps just one egg and one rasher of bacon as long as it's not fatty.'

Downstairs, he prepared breakfast, gaining satisfaction from the fact that for once the toast was made as the eggs and bacon were cooked and as the coffee machine hissed.

He stepped into the hall. ‘Grub's up!'

She came down, Timothy in her arms and mewling half-heartedly. She put him down in the carrycot and gave him the strip of red velvet that had become a comforter. Almost immediately, he became silent as he slept. She sat at the small kitchen table. ‘Who'd have thought?'

‘Thought what?' he asked, as he put a plate in front of her.

‘That life could be this perfect.'

He had finished his two eggs and three rashers of bacon and was eating a second piece of toast and marmalade when the phone rang.

‘It has to be the station this early,' she said angrily. ‘Can't they even let you have breakfast in peace?'

‘Right now, it's all panic stops out.'

‘Because of the kidnapping?'

He nodded.

‘What can any of you do when it happened in another county?'

‘Sweep up every snout and promise him a fortune if he comes up good, and broken bones if he doesn't.' He hurried through to the hall, lifted the receiver.

‘What's the news?'

It was not a voice he recognized. ‘What about?'

‘You're dumb, even for a split!'

He realized he was being dumb. So dumb that he'd fooled himself into thinking that they would leave him alone because they had milked him of all they wanted. The Caller Display unit was blank; he pressed the yellow button on the alert unit.

‘Is anyone in the frame, stupid?'

This voice could hardly have been more dissimilar to the voice of the man who had always previously phoned. Instead of mockery and a sense of perverted pleasure, it projected aggression and hatred. ‘I don't know. It's another force carrying out the investigation.'

‘You must have heard something.'

‘We've heard nothing. Which must mean, there's nothing to hear.'

‘You'd better hope it stays that way, cholentz.' The line went dead.

‘Was it the station?' Gloria called out.

‘A snout. Trying to sell news that's useless.'

‘Then come on through and finish your breakfast.'

Before he could move, Malicious Calls told him that the call had come from a public box in Gorton Street, Manchester. After replacing the receiver, he walked across to the doorway of the kitchen. ‘I'm on my way.'

‘You're not going anywhere until you've finished eating,' she said.

‘There's not the time.'

‘On a day like this, Mike Carr, you're not leaving until you've had a really good meal. And if Mr Hoskin complains because you're twenty seconds late, refer him to me.'

He entered, sat, put more marmalade on the toast. She'd switched on the radio and the news was on. There had been moderate to heavy falls of snow, very localized, and due to strong winds there was drifting in places. Some commuter trains had been badly delayed and it was not expected that regular services could be resumed until the afternoon. Although most main roads were open, many country lanes were blocked and drivers were warned to take very great care. A woman in labour had been airlifted to hospital just in time for her baby to be born there …

‘It's the same every year,' Gloria said, ‘but it always comes as a complete surprise. If this were Canada, we'd all go into hibernation for the winter … If you have to go anywhere by car, you will take care, won't you?'

It seemed a bit late to be careful.

*   *   *

Carr entered the CID general room to find Atkin and Buckley present. He muttered a good morning, crossed to his desk, sat.

Atkin was his usual ebullient self. ‘I had half a mind to phone in sick and go skiing.'

‘You never have more than half a mind to do anything with,' Buckley said. ‘And where are you going to go skiing round here – the council park?'

‘Lamont Hill. It may not be the Cresta Run, but it's good for a bit of a ski.'

‘The Cresta Run is for tobogganing.'

‘Trivial Pursuits must be hiring you as a consultant … Make yourself useful for a change and tell me, if you had a real prospect lined up, where would you take her for an intimate meal?'

‘Home.'

‘I suggested that. She turned the idea down flat.'

‘Shows she's some common sense even if she is friendly with you.'

‘I promised to behave myself.'

‘She obviously knows you're a liar.'

‘I never lie to a lady unless she wants me to in order to surrender with a clear conscience. Come on, you must know somewhere good and cheap.'

‘They're either good
or
cheap, never both.'

‘What a miserable bastard you can be.'

‘It's that what keeps me happy.'

Atkin turned. ‘Hey, Mike, where can I take her?'

Carr jerked his mind away from black thoughts. ‘What's the matter?'

‘I want to know somewhere that doesn't cost an arm and a leg that I can take my latest to and have a good meal in a warming ambience.'

‘I wouldn't know.'

‘You're an even more miserable bastard. The trouble with you married blokes is that you can get it without having to spend a fortune each time. Come on, pull the mufflers out of your brains and tell me somewhere.'

‘Try the Bricklayers Arms. The fixed meal is twelve quid.'

‘Including wine?'

‘You believe in miracles? But a pretty good Spanish red will only set you back another six quid.'

‘And it's the kind of place that makes a lady feel good?'

‘Candles on the table and an open wood fire.'

‘Just what the doctor ordered. Candles get women romantic and ready to believe whatever you tell 'em. Where is this pub?'

‘Bedlington.'

‘Bedlington? You dozy sod! I thought you were talking about the town. Bedlington's six miles out.'

‘It's better when you have to work for it.'

‘You think I'm pulling a sledge for six miles? Hasn't anyone told you? The country roads round here are in a hell of a state and more snow's forecast. Only a bloody fool's going to go anywhere outside the town.'

‘So when are you off?' asked Buckley.

Atkin stood, picked up a file, left.

The words repeated themselves in Carr's mind as they gathered a significance that would have astonished Atkin. ‘Only a bloody fool's going to go anywhere outside the town.'

‘Meet him,' said Buckley, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door, ‘and you meet a one-track ambition.'

Carr ignored the comment. Because man welcomed an ordered world, he preferred routine to randomness; criminals were no exception and frequently became slaves to a successful routine, superstitiously fearing that the slightest deviation from it would promote disaster. Hence the close attention by the police to the modus operandi of any crime. The first blackmailer, obviously enjoying the opportunity to debase a policeman, had made all previous calls from London termini. Yet this second man had projected hatred rather than enjoyment and had used a Manchester call box. Why the change in routine; why had the original man forgone a further chance to humiliate?

Carr looked through the nearer window. On the road and pavements, the snow had either melted or had been turned into dirty mush, but on the roof, window ledges, trees and bushes of the vicarage and its gardens, it remained. The country lanes would be difficult to traverse even where they were not blocked by drifts; ploughs had a habit of heaping snow across a drive and completely sealing it …

‘Just tell me something, have you joined the Trappists?'

Early in his career, a grizzled sergeant had said that with his imagination, he should be in politics, not the police. But sometimes it was difficult to draw a line between imagination and an intelligent projection from known facts … However experienced a criminal might be, invariably he suffered tension not only throughout the execution of a crime, but also afterwards when he was waiting to discover whether the police were on his trail. The blackmailer would have suffered the urge to discover whether there was any danger to him, an urge ironically becoming ever stronger because he enjoyed a way of finding out the answer. Normally he would have followed the routine that ensured him complete safety and have phoned from a London terminus. But something had prevented his doing that. Had that something been an unexpected snowfall that had closed country lanes? Criminals were subject to many superstitions and one of those most generally held was that even a slight glitch could be the harbinger of disaster. When he had realized that if he wanted to phone from London he would have to wait, perhaps for days, he had suffered a premonition of disaster on top of the already acute tension. So, by now desperate to know, he had phoned a contact in Manchester and told him to get on to DC Carr …

Buckley, causing as much noise as possible, left the room, resentfully slamming the door behind himself.

The snow had been very localized. For a house to be snowbound, it must be in the countryside. That still left God knows how many houses in which the kidnapper might be, and his captive, letting time put ever more pressure on the distraught parents; far too many houses for any thorough search to be a feasible possibility …