Bertie and the Hairdresser Who Ruled the World (25 page)

‘Yes?'

‘Don't do anything until I get back to you. I have to be there. Milly's my responsibility. It's my job. You must wait for me before going on a rescue mission.'

‘Sorry, Colin. It could be dangerous. I don't want you involved.'

‘Then you don't get the chip ID.'

‘That's obstruction,' spluttered Wilf. ‘And blackmail.'

‘Yes, it is. I'll be back with you inside an hour.'

‘Listen, Colin, there may be a lot more to this than meets the eye.'

‘Meaning?'

‘I can't tell you just yet, but if what I think proves true, there are much deeper plots here than mere burglary. Milly's not been stolen, she's been kidnapped.'

‘Kidnapped! This wouldn't have anything to do with James, would it?' Nobody could accuse Keynes of stupidity.

‘I couldn't possibly comment. That's a clue, by the way. It means yes.'

‘You're playing out of my league, Wilf. I just want our macaw back safe and sound.'

‘And I promise I'll get her back, but this is the best chance I'll ever have to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. I'm on the case, Colin, but you need to trust me.'

There was a long pause. Wilf was relieved to hear the normal sounds of motorway traffic in the background as opposed to screeching tyres, crunching metal and approaching sirens. Despite his outburst, Colin was still in control of his vehicle. ‘All right, what do you want me to do?' he sighed in resignation.

‘Send the mapping app and chip ID to my mobile.'

‘There's a service area coming up in a few miles. I'll pull in and text you the moment we finish this call. Anything else?'

‘Yes, and this is the hardest part. I want you to carry on as if nothing's happened. Go back to Regent's Park and act as if everything's fine. Milly won't be missed for a week and I need that time to find out who's behind all this. I have a very strong conviction that whoever's taken Milly thinks they've got Bertie. We can tell them apart, but few other people can unless they're sitting side by side. To a layman's eyes, one hyacinth macaw looks very much like another. Someone's been instructed to pinch a large blue bird and that's exactly what they've done. It was sheer coincidence that Milly was at the cottage. She's been taken by mistake, but no harm should come to her if we keep it quiet. If you go to the police, then experience tells me the kidnappers will know pretty quickly, at which point Milly becomes surplus to requirements and will be disposed of, quietly and in a place we will never discover. Then they'll come back for Bertie, only this time we won't have a GPS fix on him and he'll never be recovered.'

‘So what you're saying is that so long as they think she's Bertie, she's safe.'

‘Exactly. You need to trust me on this one, Colin.' Wilf was a persuasive man. As plod, it had been one of his core skills and he knew exactly what psychology and tone of voice to use on Keynes. Celeste shook her head in admiration.

‘That's a hell of a thing to ask, Wilf,' muttered Colin dubiously. Almost there.

‘It's nothing more than I know you can give.' Wilf played his ace.

‘A week, you say?' Got him!

‘Can you stretch to ten days?' Might as well push your luck.

‘Go on then, but let me make one thing very clear. If Milly has not been recovered in ten days, then I'll be mounting a rescue mission myself with as many policemen as I can get. Remember, I also know where she is. I'll be monitoring her every movement on my computer. If she is lost, there will be consequences. There'll be no hiding place from me. I'll stick a bloody GPS chip up your arse and follow you to hell and back. I'll have your guts for garters, Thompson.'

‘Then you'll be second in line behind Celeste.'

‘That's it – over there by those trees!' Wilf and Celeste stood beside the car and examined his smart phone. A map spread its complex veins across the screen. Roads laced together like varicose veins on the back of a pensioner's calf. Two dots glowed, pulsing every few seconds. The first, bright green, indicated their position. The second, stark red, indicated the location of Milly's cage. They had not driven far. Once the map application had been downloaded and the chip identification keyed in, the screen sprang into life, revealing a surprisingly familiar location. A fifteen-minute journey had brought them to just beyond the sleepy village of Deerhurst. Across the fields, not even a quarter mile away, they could see a cluster of low-roofed agricultural buildings partially hidden by a sparse belt of hawthorn trees. Celeste had pulled into a lay-by under a sycamore and they peeped over the hedge. Cows paused from grazing to peer at them, heavy-uddered, strings of drool and half-masticated grass hanging from their loose-lipped mouths. The only sound was cud being chewed, the swish of tail and occasional bubbling release of intestinal gas.

Classy.

‘It's the perfect place to hole up,' murmured Wilf, staring intently through Celeste's binoculars. ‘Remote, quiet, enclosed.'

‘See anything familiar?'

‘Like what?'

‘Well, how about a blue macaw?'

‘No. All's quiet over there. No sign of movement at all.' He scanned back and forth with the glasses. ‘The track leading to it comes in from the right. Looks like a square of buildings, probably surrounding a yard. There's no farmhouse or cottage so it's very private. Again, someone's done their homework. To find and rent such a place takes time and money. This has been some months in the planning.'

‘Worrying, isn't it.'

‘Yes. Very much.'

‘I still think I should phone James.'

‘Let's not go over that again.' Wilf had persuaded Celeste, very much against her better judgement, not to call her husband, using the same argument as he had done with Colin. ‘Calling him might not be such a good idea. Naturally, he'll want to return here immediately and that will be noticed. Especially by the press. Tactically, that could be a bad move. I'll have a nose around first. See what I can see.'

‘What are you going to do?'

‘I'll follow that hedgerow. It'll take me almost all the way there. I can see a blind spot on this side.' He handed the binoculars to Celeste.

‘No windows.'

‘That's right.'

‘Do you think they'll be patrolling?'

‘Celeste, this isn't Stalag Luft Three!'

‘Well there's no need to get snippy.'

‘Sorry. I usually work alone.'

‘I can see why.'

‘Do you want me to go and rescue your sodding macaw or not?'

‘Language,' she retorted primly. ‘Whatever we do, we do together. Besides, what makes you think you'll be able to communicate with Bertie if you come across him over there. You'll need me to persuade him to leave Milly.'

‘No, Celeste. What I said to Colin still rings true for you. This could be dangerous. We have no idea who's over there or how many of them there are. I'll go and have a look. There's no reason to suppose Milly's not in her cage, and there she can stay, but if I find Bertie I'll bring him back one way or another. If he won't listen to me then I'll wave you over.'

‘Sure,' she said in a manner Wilf had come to regard with deep suspicion. Her apparent acquiescence was most perturbing. This was too easy.

‘Are you armed?' she asked.

‘For God's sake, woman, I'm a police officer, not bloody Robocop! This is England. If you get caught carrying a gun here it's a minimum five years.'

‘Just asking.'

‘Why? Are you?'

‘Oh, yes,' replied Celeste airily.

Wilf's shoulders sagged. ‘What have you brought?' he asked with weary resignation. This was much more like the Celeste he knew so well.

‘Only my whip, of course. It's all I need.' She produced a wicked-looking bullwhip from the boot of the car.

‘Put that back,' he ordered.

‘Not a chance,' she smirked. ‘Come on, let's go and see what trouble we can get into.'

Before Wilf could protest any more, Celeste climbed over a stile in the hedge and set off for the buildings. ‘Are you coming or what?' she called back to him over her shoulder. Wilf couldn't fail to be impressed. She showed no sign of fear. Caution, yes, but no fear. He shook his head and followed. This was a woman who'd defended her home against two of the best trained Black Ops agents on the planet with passion and a generous dollop of savagery. Fear did not appear to be in her lexicon. He caught up and together they headed towards the distant buildings.

This could get very interesting indeed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Wilf and Celeste stood close to the corner of the farm buildings. Partially concealed by the hedge, it had taken them less than five minutes to traverse the field, watched with bored indifference by the herd of ruminating cows. Wilf was relieved to discover Gloucestershire cows appeared to be the laziest in England by a country mile. The odd irritated flick of a tail was the only indication of their excitement at having two people drop by for a visit.

He scanned the buildings carefully. Dirty walls of lichen-stained concrete blocks and battered corrugated tin gave the place a dismal, neglected air. Some aromatic by-product of dairy production was piled up nearby, steaming gently, and as if that wasn't enough to deter souls of a sensitive disposition, the walls were peppered with warnings of asbestos. The signs looked tatty and weathered, but when Wilf peeled one back, the adhesive was fresh.

‘Made to look old,' he breathed. ‘No asbestos here, but someone wants to keep nosy parkers away.' He edged along one wall and looked around the next corner, beckoning Celeste to follow. They stopped at a grimy window and peered inside. Agricultural detritus cluttered the place, rusty, dusty and laced with impressively large cobwebs. Light dribbled in through several ragged holes in the roof, broken tiles littering the floor. ‘No one here. The entrance to the yard must be around the next corner. I'll go and have a look. Stay here. No, here. Don't move, I'll be right back. Wait, where are you going?'

As usual, Celeste completely ignored his instructions and crept off. He shook his head sadly. So much for the authority of a police officer. Now advancing with greater caution, they carefully stole up to the gateway and peeped into the courtyard. A white van was parked in front of the largest building in the complex, the only one that appeared to be weatherproof and in reasonable condition. If the density of the signs were anything to go by, this building appeared to be constructed entirely from asbestos. Including the windows. To approach courted immediate death by mesothelioma. They spent a few seconds registering what they'd seen and, unwilling to cross the open entrance for fear of being spotted, retired back to the hedge.

‘That's where she is, in that building by the van,' said Wilf

‘Really? You think?'

He shot her an irritated look. Celeste shrugged. ‘Now you know what it's like working with you. What next?'

‘I want to have a look in that barn.'

‘So do I. What about the van?'

‘Someone's definitely at home. A plan so carefully thought out would not allow for such an exotic and valuable asset to remain unguarded. Milly will have a minder in there. The van will also be needed in case they have to move her quickly.'

‘Did you get the registration number?'

‘Of course. Sending it to Sergeant Drewing right now, but I can tell you for certain it'll be a rental hired by a Mr John Smith. Or stolen. Guaranteed.' Wilf tapped away, sent the text and pocketed his phone. ‘Right, let's go. I'm afraid we have to navigate our way around the poo pile this time.'

They set off in the opposite direction, hugging the outer walls, giving the manure mountain a wide berth and searching for windows, but there were none on that side of the complex. Then Wilf touched Celeste's arm and pointed upwards. A block had been removed, a vent of some kind high up in the wall of the barn, through which they could just hear faint music, scratchy, as if from an emphysemic radio.

‘I don't think you could reach that even on my shoulders,' he breathed.

Celeste produced her smartphone. ‘Then I'll take a video,' she said softly.

‘Good idea.' Wilf stood with his back to the wall, cupped his hands and boosted Celeste upwards. She was surprised how strong he was. There was much undignified scrambling and wrapping of legs around his neck, accompanied by frantic middle-aged person's waving of arms before she found a point of balance and slowly stood up on his shoulders. Her heels dug in, making him wince. She reached up as high as she could with the phone and, pointing it into the vent, panned in every direction before lowering herself, again with legs scissored around his neck. Wilf got a noseful of knee and nearly choked when she yanked hard on the collar of his mac, his eyes bulging. ‘Sorry,' she murmured in a tone of voice that indicated she was not sorry at all.

They huddled. Celeste called up the video and they both peered at the phone. Unsurprisingly, the image was anything but steady, but it was clear enough for them to see what they needed to see. The interior of the barn was surprisingly spacious. Light poured in through poster-dotted windows overlooking the courtyard, illuminating a few much more modern farming implements scattered around in careless abandon. Then they spotted Milly in her cage – it was just too big to miss – and nearby, bivouacked beside a small olive green tent, a man sat in a folding director's chair, sharpening a knife on a whetstone, his back to the camera and a radio at his elbow, the source of the music. Supplies and a camping stove indicated there were no immediate plans to move on.

‘That must be the man who knocked you out,' she whispered. Wilf nodded.

As they watched, he turned the radio off and made a call on his mobile, his voice echoing faintly in the empty barn. ‘I have the package and it's stored at the agreed location. No, the operation was simple enough. I was not seen. The message has been left as you ordered. No, the target is not under observation at this moment. I'm waiting for my team to arrive to guard the package, then I'll return to the prime location and resume surveillance. In the garden, of course. They'll be here within the hour. Certainly, sir, I'll not let her out of my sight again. I'll make the first call this evening. Just a preparatory conversation to stoke her fear. Thank you, I know I'm good. There won't be any mistakes. Then we can move on to the actual demonstration of our intent. Yes, I think a ritual plucking should suffice. I'm looking forward to that, too. Not a bloody chance, the countryside is a dreadful place. It stinks. I understand my fee amply compensates, but you want to try coming down here sometime. It's beyond medieval.'