Hand In Glove Part 42

"I wouldn't have thought so. But then, as you've pointed out, I don't know what they contain."

"Something worth kidnapping Mr Abberley's daughter for, apparently."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mr Abberley's daughter has been abducted and is still missing.

The letters were demanded as ransom. All of this was prior to our involvement, of course." Derek felt taken aback, as he knew he was meant to be, by this sudden revelation. "For the present, I must ask you to say nothing to anybody about this aspect of the case."

"Of course . . . Of course not."

"The kidnappers' motive is a complete mystery to us. Money is the norm where abduction is concerned. Generally lots of it. A fifty-year-old cache of letters hardly seems to fit the bill, does it? If you'll pardon the pun."

"I suppose not."

"Could these letters be worth anything?"

"No. I don't see-" Derek struggled to order his thoughts. "Only to Maurice Abberley."

"Because they would unlock fifty years' worth of royalties on Tristram Abberley's poems?"

"Yes."

Golding fell silent for a moment, tugging reflectively on the lobe of his left ear. Then he said: "If the letters can't be recovered, your brother's defence collapses even before it's been a.s.sembled, doesn't it?"

"Yes." This conclusion had not occurred to Derek, but it was true nonetheless. He felt helpless, overwhelmed by a tidal rush of events he could not hope to understand.

"And if they are found, it's too late for Maurice Abberley to benefit from their publication, isn't it? The royalties would go to his widow and daughter?"

"I suppose so."

H A N D I N G L O V E.

257.

"Or just his widow, if his daughter isn't released alive." Golding's voice sank to a murmur, as if he were talking to himself rather than Derek. "There's something here n.o.body's seeing. A pattern to the missing letters and wiped tapes, the denials, the contradictions, the downright-"

"Wiped tapes?"

Golding stared at Derek in surprise. "What?"

"You mentioned some tapes."

"Did I? Extraordinary. Well, never mind." He smiled. "I'd better not hold you up any longer. One last thing."

"Yes?"

"Where were you last Sunday night?"

"At home."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"There's n.o.body who could confirm that?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Because you blame-or blamed-Maurice Abberley for your brother's arrest. You've admitted as much. In other words, you've admitted to having a motive for his murder."

"I've done no such thing."

"You have, actually." Golding grinned at him. "I was just trying to rule you out from the start. It's a pity I can't." His grin broadened.

"Isn't it?"

After Golding's departure, Derek made several further attempts to contact Charlotte by telephone. When it became obvious she was not at home, he decided-against his better judgement-to try Swans'

Meadow, directory enquiries furnishing the number. This time there was an answer, but it was the one he had dreaded.

"h.e.l.lo?" He recognized the voice instantly as Ursula Abberley's, but knew it would be best to pretend he had not.

"Could I speak to Charlotte Ladram, please?"

"Who's calling?"

"Er . . . Derek Fairfax."

"Derek Fairfax? This is Ursula Abberley speaking, Mr Fairfax.

Charlotte's not here. Even if she were, I can't think she'd want to talk to you."

258.

R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

"I'm sorry to disturb you . . . at this sad time, Mrs Abberley . . . but it's very . . ."

"If you were really sorry to disturb me, you wouldn't have, would you?"

"Well, I-"

"Goodbye, Mr Fairfax. Please don't call again."

When Charlotte reached Swans' Meadow late that afternoon, tired and dispirited after her journey to Wales, she found Ursula in a further stage of her adjustment to Maurice's death and Samantha's disappearance. It was one of wistful regret rather than fretful anxiety and had taken her to her daughter's bedroom, where she was sorting through the show-jumping rosettes Samantha had acc.u.mulated during her hippomanic early teens.

"There's no news, Charlie," she mournfully announced. "No word. No sign. Nothing."

"I wish I could tell you I'd expected there to be."

"Why are they keeping her? We gave them everything they wanted."

"Everything we had of what they wanted, you mean. And they don't know that. They must think we're holding out on them. That's why they killed Maurice."

"But who are they? And if they want more-of whatever it is-why don't they tell us?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they're waiting for the police to lose interest."

"Then they may have to wait a long time. D.C. Finch was here again today, enquiring after my health, checking on my movements, watching, prying, probing."

"It's her job."

"And doesn't she just love it? Spying on me is so much pleasanter than directing the b.l.o.o.d.y traffic." Ursula's mood was changing again, reverting to anger and impatience. She rose from the bed where she had spread out the rosettes, strode to the window and stared down into the garden. "They listen to every telephone call, you know, in and out. They're all recorded, logged and traced."

"In case one of them's from the kidnappers."

"Or to the kidnappers. They think we know more than we're telling, Charlie. How can we convince them we don't?"

H A N D I N G L O V E.

259.

"We can't. Frank Griffith has made them wonder if the letters really exist. And there's nothing I can do to make him say otherwise."

"Then we're hoist with our own petard. If the police think we made them up, they'll think the same about the tapes, maybe about the kidnap itself."

"Surely not."

"It's how their minds work."

"But they know Sam's missing. As soon as the kidnappers make contact-"

"Exactly!" Ursula turned to look at her. "As soon as they make contact. But what if they don't? What if we never hear from them again? What then, Charlie? What will the police think then?"

CHAPTER.

ELEVEN.

Tension eases with the pa.s.sage of time, no matter how unbearable it seems at the outset. The human condition adapts in spite of itself, turning abnormality into a form of routine. So it was that by Thursday morning Charlotte could detect within herself an ebbing of urgency, a slide towards fatalism, a creeping acceptance that Samantha's absence might be as permanent as Maurice's.

Some similar process in Ursula presumably explained her willingness for the first time to discuss arrangements for the funeral, which they agreed should be held as soon as possible. Charlotte was in fact on the point of telephoning the undertaker to put matters in hand when she was intercepted by an incoming call.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Who's speaking, please?" The voice was low and huskily femi - nine.

"Charlotte Ladram. Who-"

"This is Natasha van Ryneveld. I know who you are, Charlotte.

Do you know who I am?"

"Yes."

"I thought you might, though Maurice chose to believe otherwise.

260.

R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

I learned of his death when I tried to telephone him at Ladram Avionics. It was a shock. I would have liked to have been told less . . .

abruptly. But perhaps you think I had no right to be."

"Perhaps I do."

"How is Ursula?"

"She's . . . bearing up."

"May I speak to her?"

"I'm not sure." In fact the doorbell had just rung and Ursula had gone to answer it. Charlotte was relieved to be able to say honestly, "Actually, I'm afraid you can't."

"What happened, Charlie? May I call you Charlie? Maurice always did. How did he come to be murdered? What were the circ.u.mstances?"

"I can't discuss them."

"Why not?"

"It's . . . complicated." Charlotte heard Superintendent Miller's gruff tones in the hall. "I must go now. I'll tell Ursula you called."

"But-"

Charlotte put the receiver down and felt positively grateful for the lack of opportunity to consider her reaction to the conversation. As she looked up, Ursula returned to the room, with Superintendent Miller, Chief Inspector Golding and D.C. Finch behind her. The three police officers were grim-faced and intent. They acknowledged Charlotte with peremptory nods.

"We've just held a case conference, Mrs Abberley," Miller began.

"And we've decided on a change of approach."

"We're hampered by a total lack of evidence," said Golding. "The only way we can set about obtaining some is to raise the public profile of the case, which is so far limited to the bald facts of your husband's murder."