Wilderness (Arbogast trilogy) (26 page)

“Has Mary been here Eric?”

“Mary?”

If he knew anything Sanderson did well to cover his surprise.

“I have good reason to believe that she may either be here already, or will turn up soon. Either way she’s in trouble.”

Eric was examining the cuticles on his right hand, which was loosely clenched, “And what do you suppose I can do about that?”

“You don’t seem overly concerned.”

 “Why should I be? I’ve told you about what happened in the past – there’s no love lost between us.”

“Even so she’s still your daughter – flesh and blood. I’m sure you were...close...at one point?”

“I don’t think I care much for your insinuations Inspector.”

 “Listen Eric I think you might know more about this than you’re letting on but right now you know I can’t prove anything.”

“How inconvenient for you, detective.”

Sanderson was about to say something else when he was cut off.

“But here’s the thing – this case has turned into quite a circus. We’re holding a press conference in a couple of hours in Glasgow and I think you’re going to be our star turn. You see, like it or not, your daughter is missing. I think she’s in the immediate area and I think she wants to see you. But we want her to know you want to see her so you’ll be asking her to contact us, to give herself up.”

“Are we back to this again? Why should I agree?”

“It’ll look good for you. I know there are a few press people circling round just now, keen to dig up old stories and paint you up as a dirty old man.  Whatever happens next this will help you and it will help us too. This case started off fairly simply. We had a known sex offender on the run with a young girl. But it’s all changed and I can’t quite pin down a motive. Your daughter doesn’t seem to have good reason to be involved in murder and abduction but she’s pushed herself out there. She’s become involved. Looking at the bigger picture all roads seem to be leading to your boss right now.”

“What’s John Madoch got to do with anything?”

“That’s my business. I want you to come with me and publicly call for Mary to turn herself in. Don’t take long to think it over because I’m not really giving you a choice. It’s either that or I’ll take you in and I’ll have forensics down here with a fine tooth comb. Technology has come a long way since 1985 you know.”

“I hear what you’re saying and but I really don’t have a clue where you get your ideas from. I’m an engineer and a busy one at that. I’m at a key stage of the excavations for the wind farm. I have blasting to do today and this press conference of yours – let’s just say I don’t have the time.”

“There’ll be time enough for that too, maybe. Get your coat.”

As they left the caravan Arbogast noticed that Sanderson hadn’t locked up.

“Feeling safe?”

“There’s no-one here that will bother me and I really do have nothing worth taking.”

“We’ve all got something, Eric.”

As they recovered the car from the ice Arbogast noticed that a patrol car had arrived and was parked at the bottom of the road. He stopped on his way past and got out to speak to the constables.

“Alright there? I need you to keep an eye on this entrance. I appreciate the owner’s coming with me but we still expect his daughter to make an appearance. Here’s her picture. If you see anything – phone it in. Failing that I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

He got the resigned nods he expected from the PCs who were embarking on what would no doubt be a tedious and largely thankless task, but it was this kind of donkey work that split pain-in-the-arse cases like this one wide open.

Mary Clark watched her father leave with the detective and wondered what was going on. There was a patrol car too, which complicated things slightly but she could wait. The old house was creaking and groaning, in a way that was new to her. It seemed to be troubled, waiting for something to happen, to soothe its aches and pains, and it wouldn’t have long to wait. As Mary negotiated the stairs down to the ground floor she could see what the noise had been. Her father had been pottering around for close to three hours. She had toyed with the idea of confronting him there and then, but this wasn’t the right time. Not yet. As she looked around she could see that he had been busy, with tools scattered everywhere, although she couldn’t see what he had been working on. It occurred to Mary that her father might be trying to cover his tracks but she was determined that the trail of tears would end here.
‘I know Kovan is here somewhere. Madoch’s men told me that they would bring her here. I have never known exactly where it was but now I have the chance to find it.’
As she looked around she was surprised at how little her childhood home had changed. She had managed to escape and find a life of her own but it was as if time had stood still. There was something appropriate about the damage Mother Nature had wreaked on this old pile, as if the bricks and mortar were finally ready to give up her secrets. And then she saw the picture. It was taken outside behind the house. It had been a bright summer’s day and it showed her sat in her father’s knee on the old wooden garden bench, with her mother leaning in with her head nestled under his chin.
‘The happy family. What a joke.’
As she took the picture off the wall her old life came flooding back, the picnics and the Christmas time memories – but they all faded away when she remembered what he had done to her, time and time again. Mary felt anger growing inside her as she welled up at the thought of the secret place, their secret place. A sudden rage overcame her and she threw the picture across the room, recoiling when the glass shattered into a thousand pieces, the frame cracking and breaking. Mary collapsed onto the floor hugging her herself close with her arms clasped around here knees.

She didn’t hear it at first but through her tears she became aware of the noise. A dull thud she thought must have been her own heartbeat but when she stopped and listened she realised that there was something or someone else in the house with her. This scared her at first but then if the noise came from a threat she reasoned that she would already know about it. Mary walked through the ground floor but could not identify exactly where the sound was coming from. She tried the door to the basement. It had always been locked when she was a child and she could never remember having actually been in there. Outside the door the noise was louder, a muffled banging noise and then what sounded like a muffled scream.

“Help me,” it said, again and again, “Help me – let me out.”

She tried the door to the basement and was surprised when it opened. The space was divided into two sections. The first had access to steps which led outside to the garden. The floor was cracked and when she looked up she could see it went right through the building and that she was directly below the living room. The second part of the basement was another enclosed room which took up the west section. Mary could see that the door was locked but it was here that the noise was coming from.

“Hello?”

“Hello – who is that – can you let me out please? I cannot breathe in this coffin. I must find my wife and daughter?” 

The voice was foreign although Mary could not place it, although it sounded familiar.

“Wait. I’ll help. I’m not with the man who locked you in.” Looking around Mary could see there was no key and there were three mortise locks to be opened. “I’ll be back.” She knew where the keys had been kept before, but returning to the kitchen she found nothing save for rusting cutlery and aged utensils that were long past their prime. Returning to the basement she looked for an axe or saw, anything that could help her cut through. And then she saw the chainsaw.

“Stand back I’m going to cut you out,” she said, pulling on the starter cord. Again and again she pulled achieving nothing but fruitless splutters until, suddenly, the saw roared into life and she got to work. It was hard going but 15 minutes later she had managed to cut a hole that was big enough through the wooden door for the prisoner to crawl through. She watched as he made his way to freedom, his lush dark hair and dirty black suit made for quite a contrast. As he raised himself to his full height she screamed.

“It’s you, my god what have I done.”

It was another full house at the Pitt Street auditorium. They had agreed to keep it short and sweet.  Chief Constable, Norrie Smith, was going to give a brief update about yesterday’s ‘escape’ while Eric Sanderson was to be the star of the show. He hadn’t been keen and tried to leave when he saw the number of people, cameras, and microphones that were waiting for him. ‘I can’t do TV, I just can’t,’ he had argued but they had insisted he would not need to do interviews, and that the press conference itself would provide all the material that would be needed. A number of satellite broadcasters were there too so the whole thing was to be covered live across the UK and abroad. Arbogast was pleasantly surprised to see Rosalind Ying back in the saddle.

“Hey there, are you sure you should be back so soon?” he said, touching her arm. Rosalind still looked like death warmed up but she was obviously determined to make the best of a bad situation.

“What and let you close my case, I don’t think so. How’s Eric doing?”

“He’ll do his bit. This routine will give us a bit of breathing space. I’ve got a car down at the farm and I’ll be driving him back after this. I think I’ll have a look around the house.”

“With his permission of course,” she said, as a broad smile lit up her face.

“Naturally,” They watched from the sidelines as the media consumed the Eric and Norrie show.

“He’s not too bad,” Arbogast said, nudging Rosalind, “you’d almost think he cared.” From the corner of his eye Arbogast saw a hand trying to get his attention. It was Sandy Stirrit.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Rosalind nodded as Arbogast made his way into the press pack.

“Fancy seeing you here – I thought you were going to go to town on this for me?”

“I tried but they wouldn’t bite. Too scared of legal action but this is all good stuff,” he said nodding to the press bench. “Do you have anything else for me?”

“Strictly on the QT we’re looking into one John Madoch.”

“John Madoch – Glasgow’s favourite gangster?”

“He’s over this like a rash. Hanom Kocack was being forced to work in a lap dancing bar owned by Madoch while the husband, Onur, is working at Moorland Wind out at Eaglesham. Eric Sanderson works with him, and then as you know Sanderson’s daughter is also involved. Far too many coincidences to be coincidental don’t you think? We’re saying nothing publicly at the moment but it would be worth you digging a bit deeper. Madoch’s involved but we can’t prove it yet. And you being a good fellow of the press I’m sure he wouldn’t object to a few friendly questions.”

“OK JJ, I’ll have a look into it. He’s certainly keeping a lower profile these days but he must still be connected. Cheers.”

“And when I’ve cleared this one up we can have a jar or two?”

“Definitely JJ and listen, who’s the lady you were pawing a minute ago?”

“I’m sure I don’t know who you mean. Are you not meant to be working?” They shared a smile which said it all and then Arbogast was gone.

“That went quite well then Eric,” Arbogast said, “Are you happy enough with the way it panned out?’

Eric was sat in the back of the Nissan with Rosalind Ying while Arbogast drove back down the M8.

“Aye well I wouldn’t want to do that every day but I did OK. I hate to think how I’ll look but if it brings Mary in then I suppose it’s been worthwhile.”

“That it will be Mr Sanderson – that it will be.”

Rosalind was checking for media coverage on her mobile. The footage was already available on the BBC and STV websites while all the major papers had fresh details on the case online.

“Looks like they’ve gone for it a big way, let’s hope it was worth it gentlemen.”

No-one spoke for the rest of the journey as the car powered on, heading back to the Sanderson farm.

“It’s you, my god what have I done?” Mary said, repeating herself. She knew the face. It was the face from the bus. It was the man that forced her to strip at gunpoint, the man who had strayed from the plan, the man that had nearly been the death of her. He reached forward and grabbed her wrists.

“What is wrong with you woman. Who are you?”

Slowly Mary calmed down. She realised that there was something different, something in his eyes.

“I feel like I’ve met you before?”

“You have my word that we have never met. Have you seen my wife, my daughter?”

“Kovan?” His eyes lit up at this then his expression darkened.

“Who are you? Why have you let me out?”

Mary explained that she was here for her father, that they had unfinished business and that she could not allow him to inflict any more pain on the people he held close.

“But I still feel as though we’ve met. You look like the man who left me on the bus. I could have died there. You look so much alike.”

Onur thought on this for a few seconds before it dawned on him who the other man must be.

“I think I understand your problem. I also think that it is not safe to remain here.”

Mary found his English hard to follow at times but she realised that he meant what he said.

“Is the other man here?”

“He is my brother and I have not seen him for some time, since the day I left Turkey in fact. That he is here is a worry to me. We must leave.”

“I can’t leave. I’m here for my father and I won’t go until I see him. I’m involved in this. I believe your daughter is here, maybe even your wife too. I was approached by Hanom to pick up Kovan and take her to a safe place. That safe place is right here. My father will know where it is but he is not an honourable man. If he has your daughter then I fear for her safety. If we leave you might not see them again. My father is up to something, he’s been working upstairs. I think he’s planning something so we must act while he’s not here.”

They left the house by the back door which was invisible from the road. If they slipped around past the shower block they should be able to reach the caravan unseen from the road. Mary’s heart was beating fast as she raced for cover.