Hand in Glove (56 page)

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?”

“Saturday.”

It was as much as she could do not to sigh with relief. If Golding had chosen Friday, her own placement of the advertisement 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 assessing 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, nobody there would remember her call—or comment on it if they did. Her advertisement 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.”

C

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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 titles 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 classified advertisements. 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

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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 advertisement.”

“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 document 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

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hardened her voice. “We’ll hand the document 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 document. 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 Señor 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, Señor 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.”

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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 God’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 hell 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?”

“Señor 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 document 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

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explanation. She must know nothing of the reason for her release and those who do know must say nothing, now or in the future.”

The arrangements for exchange were crucial. They might conceal a carefully planned deception. Charlotte knew this only too well. She had to weight her eagerness to agree against the possibility of further trickery. But she had no sooner began considering the problem than a ring at the doorbell interrupted her. Rising from the chair with the telephone pressed to her ear, she peered out through the net-curtained window.

But no car was visible on the drive or in the road. If, as she greatly feared, it was Golding, he had arrived on foot, which scarcely seemed likely. But somebody had, as a second ring of the bell confirmed.

“Well, Miss Ladram? Do you accept our conditions?”

“I must know more about them. Where . . . Where would the exchange take place?”

“We have chosen somewhere offering privacy and security to both parties.”

There was a tapping on the window. When Charlotte looked round, she saw a bulky figure crouching close to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes in an attempt to penetrate the screen of net.

“Miss Ladram?”

“I . . . I’m sorry. When . . . When do you envisage . . .”

“Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“So . . . So soon?” It was a stupid remark and she instantly regretted it. Looking round again, she was relieved to see that the figure had vanished from the window. She could only hope he had given up and gone away. “I’m sorry. Tomorrow morning is fine.”

“Good. You accept, then?”

“Perhaps. Tell me the details first.”

“No. I must have your acceptance first. There can be no quibbling about any of our conditions. They are strictly non-negotiable.”

Another tapping, more like a drumming now. And from a different direction. Charlotte looked up. Standing at the uncurtained patio doors on the other side of the house, staring in at her through the dining room and the arch that separated it from the lounge, was Colin Fairfax. She recognized him at once from his court appearance more than three months ago. He was wearing exactly the same clothes—dark blue blazer, fawn trousers, open-necked striped shirt—and much the same expression of baffled disgruntlement. He tapped again as she watched.

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“Miss Ladram, do I have your undivided attention? You seem not to be concentrating on the matter in hand.”

“I’m concentrating. Your conditions . . . I accept them.” Speed was vital now. Colin Fairfax was not going to give up. That was obvious.

She had to conclude her negotiations with Galazarga before he decided to take drastic action. “I accept all of them.”

“Good. These, then, are the arrangements. Make a careful note of them, since I shall not repeat myself.”

Charlotte grabbed a pencil and leant forward to reach the pad of paper she had placed by the telephone earlier. “I’m listening.”

“Mr Fairfax and his companion will drive to Orense, one hundred and eleven kilometres south-east of Santiago de Compostela. From there they will take the N120 road for Ponferrada. After forty-nine kilometres, they will reach the village of Castro Caldelas. There they will turn off to the north on the minor road to Monforte de Lemos, descending by a series of zig-zags into the valley of the river Sil. They will stop on the southern side of the bridge by which the road crosses the river, arriving no later than eight fifty-five tomorrow morning, Saturday October ten. Our representatives will bring your niece to the northern side of the bridge by the same time. At nine o’clock exactly, Mr Fairfax will walk unaccompanied to the centre of the bridge, taking the document with him, but no weapon of any kind, nor anything that could be mistaken for a weapon. One of our representatives will join him on the bridge and will inspect the document. If it is found to be satisfactory, your niece will be allowed to cross the bridge. Mr Fairfax and his companion will then start back with her towards Castro Caldelas, while our representatives depart in the opposite direction. Mr Fairfax and his companion will deliver your niece to a police station of their choice during the morning, but will not accompany her inside. They will tell her to say she was released by her kidnappers without explanation and does not know where or by whom she was held. They will tell her nothing else. Is that clear?”

“Yes. It’s clear.” Colin was banging his fist against the patio door now and shouting. Soon, the neighbours would be bound to hear.

And she had still to pass Galazarga’s conditions on to Derek. She held up her hand to pacify Colin, but it appeared to have no effect. “Mr Fairfax will abide by these arrangements to the letter. You have . . .

You have my guarantee.”

“And you have mine that we will do the same. I trust there will be no . . . mishaps.”