Hand In Glove Part 65

"He's done a bunk," put in Golding. "Probably realized the game was up."

"Yes," said Hyslop defensively. "But we'll catch him. It's only a question of time."

"As in the matter of your niece's abduction," said Golding. "You seem to be coping remarkably well in the circ.u.mstances, Miss Ladram."

"Well . . . There's nothing I can do, is there? There's nothing anybody can do."

"Our enquiries have hit a brick wall, it's true. That's why we're considering a change of tactics."

"What sort of change?"

"One in which we need your a.s.sistance."

"How can I help?"

"We have to communicate with the kidnappers, you see. At this late stage, there's really no alternative. What we propose to do is to run the advert in the International Herald Tribune they spoke to you about. You remember-'Pen pals can be reunited. Orwell will pay'."

Charlotte's throat tightened. Golding was looking straight at her, but she could see little of his expression because of the glare from the window behind him. Was he testing her nerve? Was he dropping a far from subtle hint? Or was this merely a sensible proposal born of official desperation? There was no way to tell. "I remember," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

"If and when they respond, they'll expect to talk to you. At least in the first instance. We can wean them on to a trained negotiator later, of course."

"But the advert was to be placed if we were prepared to give them what they want. And we don't have it."

"No." He paused and for a moment it was possible to believe he 398 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

had asked a question rather than stated what he took to be a fact.

"Well, the idea is for you to imply we do have it. To keep them talking until we can (a) trace the call and (b) persuade them to extend the deadline."

Charlotte pleaded silently with her voice and eyes not to betray her as she spoke. "When . . . er . . . do you plan to run the advert?"

"Sat.u.r.day."

It was as much as she could do not to sigh with relief. If Golding had chosen Friday, her own placement of the advertis.e.m.e.nt would have been bound to come to light. Now there was a slim chance it would not-until it had served its purpose.

"By leaving it as late as possible," Golding continued, "we hope to make the kidnappers think we're giving in to the deadline."

"I see."

"So, will you help us? Without you, I doubt we'll be able to keep them talking long enough to accomplish anything."

"What does Ursula say?"

"Mrs Abberley? She's happy for us to do anything we think may save her daughter." His gaze narrowed fractionally. "I rather expected you to take the same view."

"Oh, I do. I do." Her thoughts whirled ahead of her words, shaping and a.s.sessing the consequences of Golding's proposal. She was bound, of course, to agree to it. Therefore, the police would soon be in touch with the International Herald Tribune's advertising sales office.

With luck, n.o.body there would remember her call-or comment on it if they did. Her advertis.e.m.e.nt would still appear in the morning.

And the kidnappers would see it. But so, sooner or later, would Golding. He would come looking for her. Failing to find her, he would establish whose number had been quoted. The question was whether he would act fast enough to prevent her reaching agreement with the kidnappers on her own account. She did not know the answer. She did not even know whether she would be able to reach such an agreement. But she did know that now, more than ever, she had to try. "I'll help in any way I can, Chief Inspector. Any way at all."

CHAPTER.

TWENTY-TWO.

It was a windless morning in Speldhurst. Charlotte watched dawn break and spread its bleary greyness across the trim-lawned bungalows of Farriers. A couple of Derek's neighbours had already set off for work in their company cars, speeding towards the bright office lights of normality, minds focused on today's meeting and tomorrow's round of golf. Not for them this eerie vigil she was bound to keep, hidden behind the net curtains of Derek's lounge. Not for them the mind-numbing alternatives she knew she would have to face when and if and every time his telephone rang.

She crossed to the bookcase beside the television and cast her eye along the t.i.tles in search of one with which she might ease the tension of waiting. Economic theory. Photography. Natural history. Vin-tage cars. Fine art and poetry to balance the dog-eared yardage of pulp fiction. The mixture reminded her how little she really knew about him, how abnormal the manner was in which their paths had crossed. She wished it could have been otherwise. And then she saw, lying flat on a rank of paperbacks, Tristram Abberley: A Critical Biography. She pulled it out and studied the face of its subject on the cover. What would he have done if he had realized the havoc his literary lie would wreak in the lives of his sister and his son and half a dozen others still unborn when he caught his last breath in Tarragona? It was too late to ask him. Just as it was too late to ponder what she would do if she could know for certain what the next few hours would bring.

In Corunna, Derek had had to walk a mile or so into the city centre to find a kiosk selling the International Herald Tribune. Now he hurried with it to a bench in the palm-treed park nearby and turned anxiously to the cla.s.sified advertis.e.m.e.nts. PEN PALS CAN BE REUNITED, blared the boxed and capitalized words. ORWELL WILL PAY. And there was his own telephone number in England. It could not be missed. It 400 R O B E R T G O D D A R D.

could not be mistaken. It had begun. Rolling the newspaper in his hand, he rose and set off back towards the hotel.

By ten o'clock, Charlotte had been expecting the telephone to ring for the best part of an hour. Nevertheless, when it did so, she started violently before running to answer it.

"44-892-315509," she said as slowly as she could.

There was no reply. She waited, then began to repeat the number.

But, before she had finished, the line went dead. She glared at the instrument as if it were to blame, then slammed it down. She was still glaring at it when it rang again.

"44-892-315509."

"Miss Ladram?" To judge by Derek's description, the voice was Galazarga's. But she knew better than to ask.

"Yes."

"I represent those who are holding your niece, Miss Ladram."

"I know."

"We saw your advertis.e.m.e.nt."

"Good."

"Why the change of number?"

"Because the police may be listening on mine. This is safer."

"I am glad to hear it. The subscriber is listed as D.A. Fairfax. We have recently had some contact with Mr Fairfax. I take it he is a friend of yours?"

"Yes."

"Then I advise you to be more careful in your choice of friends.

We have found Mr Fairfax to be an unreliable man to do business with."

Now, Charlotte knew, was the moment to be firm. Now was the moment to seize the initiative. But she had only to think of Samantha, alone and frightened, to hold back a little longer. "I am well aware of Mr Fairfax's dealings with you."

"In that case, you will be well aware of his failure to hoodwink us in the matter of the map."

"We're not trying to hoodwink you. My aunt destroyed the map before handing the doc.u.ment over to us. I wish she hadn't, but I can't change what she did. It's gone. Only Ortiz's statement remains."

"We don't believe you."

"Fine. Don't believe us. But believe this." Deliberately, she H A N D I N G L O V E.

401.

hardened her voice. "We'll hand the doc.u.ment over to the Spanish press unless you release my niece before the expiry of the deadline."

There was a pause, then Galazarga said: "You are bluffing, Miss Ladram. And bluffing poorly. You would not take such a risk with your niece's life."

"You're right. I wouldn't. But I no longer have the doc.u.ment. Mr Fairfax has it. He and his companion don't share my scruples."

"Who is his companion?"

The question was a sign of weakness. Charlotte knew she must exploit it. "A ruthless man. Just like Senor Delgado."

She had named Delgado for the very first time, but, if Galazarga noticed, he gave no sign of it. "Where is this . . . ruthless man?" he asked.

"With Mr Fairfax. In hiding. I don't know where. They thought it safer for me not to know. They can contact me, but I can't contact them. They're waiting to see if they have to carry out their threat. So am I."

"Come, come, Miss Ladram. They will only do what you tell them to do."

"Not so. Mrs Abberley and I agreed with them before they left for Spain that they would ignore any subsequent change of mind on our part. It was a precaution we felt we had to take, to protect us from our own weakness as the deadline approached. So, you see, nothing I say will stop them going to the press. Only you can do that."

"By releasing your niece?"

"Exactly."

There was a delay of several seconds before Galazarga spoke again. When he did so, Charlotte detected a trace of hesitancy in his voice. "Miss Ladram, this really-"

"What's your answer?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I have to know what to tell Mr Fairfax. Your answer, Senor Galazarga. I must have it now, please."

He did not react to her use of his name any more than he had to her use of Delgado's. "Very well. I will confer . . . with those I represent . . . and deliver their answer to you."

"When?"

"This morning. By noon at the latest."

"All right. But-"

"Goodbye, Miss Ladram."

402.

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

Derek walked across to the window of his hotel room and stared out at the harbour, where a red-hulled fishing boat had made no discernible progress towards the open sea since he had last observed it.

"We should have heard from her by now," he said, turning back towards his companion, who sat in the only armchair, smoking his pipe and gazing at nothing.

"We should hear from her," Frank said slowly, "when she has something to report."

"They must have seen the advert hours ago. What are they waiting for?"

"If they're waiting, it's to test our nerves. Yours don't seem to be standing up to the test too well."

"Oh, for G.o.d's-"

"Take some advice from me, boy. The advice of somebody who's waited to go into battle often enough to be an expert. Waiting's hard.

But sometimes it's a h.e.l.l of a sight better than knowing."

"Thanks, Frank." With an exasperated shake of the head, Derek returned to watching the fishing boat. "Thanks a lot."

Noon was still twenty minutes away when the telephone rang again.

Charlotte forced herself to wait until it had completed two rings before picking it up.

"44-892-315509."

"Miss Ladram?"

"Senor Galazarga?"

"My name does not matter, Miss Ladram. What matters is our answer."

"And what is your answer?"

"We accept your terms." Charlotte uttered a silent prayer of thanks. Four simple words justified every chance she had taken. But four words, it transpired, were not all Galazarga had to say. "On certain conditions which must be scrupulously observed. If they are not, the agreement is null and void. And your niece's life is forfeit."

"What are the conditions?"

"The doc.u.ment must be brought to a location we nominate, where it will be handed over in return for your niece, who must then be delivered to a police station as if she had been set free without H A N D I N G L O V E.

403.