A New Dawn Rising (20 page)

Sam carried on to the cottage, marvelling at the irony of having some local villain's phone number in his pocket. He had wanted to ask them why Carl had taken out the loan, but he thought that might be pushing his luck. Anyway, they probably wouldn't know. Their job was simply to chase down those who didn't pay.

Had money been the root cause of Carl's complicated life? Sam wondered if it was also the motive behind his death. A dire financial situation would explain Bill Seymour's evasiveness yesterday. The accountant had certainly sounded annoyed at Carl when he found out cash was being paid out for Sam's employment. With redundancies at the factory, Seymour would have been aware the business was having money issues. But did he know about the loan? Did he know Carl had resorted to such drastic measures? Sam was positive the key to all this was Carl's reason for needing quick money. Find that out and the mystery surrounding his death would become clearer.

***

He could see a solitary figure waiting patiently on his doorstep. A car was also parked outside the front of the cottage. Sam took his foot off the accelerator and allowed the Clio to slow down. He was still some distance from the cottage, and the man waiting outside hadn't looked his way yet. Sam watched him shrug in disappointment and get into his car. He had been carrying a small machine. A dictaphone.

It was a reporter.

Sam was thankful he was in Lucy's car and not his own. The Capri would be well known to the press by now. He watched the reporter drive off in the opposite direction. Even if the man had looked in his rear view mirror, he wouldn't have given the blue Clio a second glance.

Sam pulled up outside the cottage. Getting out of the car and walking up the path, he was struck by an eerie sensation. He felt as though he were a stranger calling on somebody. Visiting someone else's home rather than returning to his own. He told himself to get a grip. He had only been away for one night.

Sam unlocked the front door, pushed it open with some trepidation and let out a small sigh of relief. His living-room was still in the same state he had left it. However, there were two pieces of paper just inside the door that hadn't been there yesterday. He bent down and picked them up. One was a blank white card. He flipped it over and read the other side.

James Taylor. Bursleigh Sentinel.

Next to the print was a short, scribbled message.

Please ring me. Tell your side of the story.

Sam laughed. No chance. James Taylor wouldn't be interested in the truth. His concern would be finding a good headline, regardless of its content.

Sam studied the other piece of paper. It was a ragged, lined sheet, crudely torn out of a writing pad and folded in half. He opened it up. The short sentence had been scrawled in black ink.

Forget Carl Renshaw or you will pay.

Sam knew he should be disturbed, but he wasn't. He was on the right track. Somebody was scared he was getting close to the truth. But who? The note had been delivered during the last twenty-four hours, so he had to presume it was somebody he had contacted yesterday. Sam ran the day through his mind.

He had visited Arthur to talk about Peter Canning. Was Arthur in cahoots with Peter? Sam found that hard to believe, but he couldn't rule out the possibility the two men had been in touch since. The old boy could have innocently mentioned Sam's visit.

Then there was Martyn Taylor. Sam had certainly upset Taylor enough for the man to want revenge. By going onto his manor and doing two of his men, Sam would have slighted Taylor's reputation. It would have been an insult too large to ignore. Martyn Taylor would be raging right now. Absolutely livid. But what was it he had said to Sam last night? Something about Carl not being relevant anymore. Was Taylor trying to imply he hadn't been involved in Carl's death? That his only tenuous connection now was the personal feud that had developed between Sam and himself? Sam wasn't convinced. He thought Martyn Taylor was trying to throw him off the scent.

The only other person he had seen yesterday was Bill Seymour, and Sam would have said the accountant had been left more irritated than enraged by his impromptu visit. Seymour was probably embarrassed at the financial mess Carl had got himself into. Annoyed he was the one left sorting it out. Anyway, Seymour didn't strike Sam as the type to send threatening notes. Peter Canning or Martyn Taylor, perhaps. But not Bill Seymour.

There was one final aspect for Sam to take into account. Who knew where he lived? Sure, half the town's press now knew, but his address hadn't been made public. He supposed somebody could have found out from a reporter but he didn't think so. He hadn't even given Carl his address. The only others who knew the cottage was his home were the police and Lucy. Then again, he appeared to have someone looking after him right now. If that person was following him closely, the chances were they had seen him at the cottage. Sam dismissed that idea. Why would anybody go to the trouble of rescuing him from danger only to threaten him with this note?

Then it came to him. Of course.

The person who had broken in. The intruder who had ransacked his home.

They had searched for something and hadn't found it.

And now they were trying to scare Sam off.

Sam let himself in.

'Lucy?' he called out.

No answer.

He looked in each room, but she wasn't at home. He searched around for a note. Nothing. Sam wasn't too concerned. She had mentioned she might go to the shop. He sat on the sofa and waited. There was little else he could do. He wouldn't feel comfortable wandering around her flat. He hadn't know her long enough to do that.

After ten minutes, he got up and went to the window. Looking out, he saw a row of shops at the far end of the street, just a couple of minutes walk away. If she had gone over there, surely she should be back by now? Puzzled, he sat back down, wondering exactly where she had walked to. He didn't want to ring her and come across all clingy.

Twenty minutes later and Sam began to get worried.

***

He tried her phone a third time. This time someone answered. Only it wasn't Lucy. It was a male voice.

'Is that Sam Carlisle?'

Sam's blood ran cold. The voice was muffled. Somebody didn't want to be recognised.

'Yes, it is,' he replied, trying hard to contain his anxiety. 'Where's Lucy?'

Silence for a moment.

'I've got her...'

'What do you mean, you've got her?'

Another pause.

'I'm holding her with me until I'm satisfied you're going to keep your nose out-'

Sam exploded. 'What the hell has Lucy got to do with this?' he yelled down the phone. 'If you hurt her-'

The line went dead. Sam took the phone away from his ear and stared at it in fury. He couldn't comprehend the need to drag an innocent person-

An innocent person.

Elizabeth. Danielle.

It was happening again.

To Lucy, this time.

To Sam, all over again.

And the dreams.

The dream last night.

Lucy in danger.

Seconds later, and much to his relief, his phone sprang back into life. A text message from Lucy's number. Sam fumbled with the keypad in an effort to get the message on display.

Will ring you back later. Give you a chance to calm down. No police.

Sam read it over and over again, furious with himself for losing his cool. He had put Lucy at risk by letting his emotions get the better of him. He had to forget about the past for now. Elizabeth. Danielle. Walters. The dreams. The drink. None of it was relevant right now. Lucy's safety was paramount, and he was only going to ensure that by keeping a clear head.

Think, he told himself. Think.

Sam paced up and down the living-room, running the short telephone conversation through his head. The man had said he was holding Lucy.
I'm holding her
, not
we
. That meant he was working alone. Or holding Lucy hostage by himself for now.

What about the pauses? The uncertainty in the voice?

Sam believed it was somebody unfamiliar with taking such extreme measures. And unprepared, too. This course of action hadn't been thought through properly. Lucy's abduction was a knee-jerk reaction borne solely out of panic. A foolhardy attempt to stop Sam from digging any deeper. If something had triggered the writing of the note dropped through Sam's letterbox, then something else had happened since. An event that had scared the person responsible for Carl's death enough to resort to kidnapping.

Was this Martyn Taylor's way of getting revenge while persuading Sam to stay at arms length? If so, then Sam was sure Taylor would have left it to one of his men to take Lucy. The Withdean's top dog wouldn't want to get his own hands dirty. Or had Peter Canning lost his patience with Sam's interfering? Had he been provoked into taking more drastic measures than intended? Then again, Sam considered murder quite a serious action. Grabbing somebody off the street and holding them against their will. A small act in comparison.

Grabbing somebody off the street.

That gave Sam an idea.

He couldn't just sit around waiting for his phone to ring. He would only spend the time worrying how Lucy was holding up. How she was being treated. Sam decided to use the time constructively.

He left the flat, taking the steps down to the ground floor two at a time. Outside, he was stumped for a moment. Where exactly should he start searching for clues? He looked down the street.

The row of shops.

He hurried towards them. He was almost there when a middle-aged woman holding a clipboard stepped in front of him.

'Excuse me, sir. Can you spare a moment?'

Sam gave her no more than a fleeting glance.

'Sorry,' he said, already moving past her. 'I'm in a bit of a-'

He stopped and turned.

'Have you been standing here long?' he asked.

The woman gave him a curious look.

'Well, yes,' she replied, unsure of this sudden interest from a stranger. 'I've been here most of the day. Why do you ask?'

Sam cleared his throat.

'I'm looking for someone. A woman. Mid-twenties. Pretty, with long dark hair...'

She shook her head, nonplussed.

'She would have come past here about half an hour ago,' said Sam urgently. 'She might have popped into one of these shops.'

The woman stared at him blankly, tapping on her clipboard with a pen. Sam was unsure if she was trying to recall a person matching the description or wishing he would just go away.

'Never mind,' he said to her, unable to hide his disappointment. He could still ask in some of the shops. 'Thanks, anyway.'

He turned on his heels and headed for the nearest shop.

'Hold on a minute!'

Sam span around. The woman had taken a couple of steps towards him.

'You didn't give me a chance to think about it,' she said. 'Was she wearing a leather jacket? A black leather jacket?'

'Yes,' replied Sam eagerly. 'Yes, she was. Have you seen her?'

'If it's the same young lady you're talking about, then I didn't just see her, I talked to her.'

It was Sam's turn to look stumped.

'You talked to her?'

'Yes, I did,' replied the woman with a smile. 'Such a lovely girl...and such beautiful eyes.'

Sam shuffled his feet impatiently.

'Are you her partner?' the woman asked him. Sam could see she was wary of giving out too much information freely.

Sam recalled the gentle kiss Lucy had given him before he left the flat.

'Yes, I am. She was waiting for me and I'm running a bit-'

'Ah, we are talking about the same person then,' the woman said, her face softening. 'She said she was waiting for someone.'

'What else did she say?'

'Well, she kindly filled out my questionnaire for me. She said it would pass the time while she was waiting. I always appreciate it when someone stops, you know. Most people won't give you the time of day.'

'Can you remember which way she went?' asked Sam hurriedly, determined to keep the woman talking about Lucy.

'I don't remember,' she replied, a pained looked on her face. Sam watched her look up and down the street, trying to jog her own memory. Then something came to her. 'Oh, yes, now I do. She walked over there. Then she stopped to talk to someone.'

The woman had her arm out, pointing towards Lucy's block of flats. Sam nodded thoughtfully. Lucy had been on her way back home.

'Look, I'm sorry about all these questions,' he said, 'but can you remember who she talked to?'

The woman patted him reassuringly on the arm.

'You're really worried about her, aren't you, love?' she said, giving him an anxious look.

Worried? Sam was absolutely petrified. Lucy's safety was in the hands of a cold-blooded murderer. Despite that, he knew he had to be careful not to alarm this lady too much. She might panic and contact the police herself if she thought Lucy was in danger. Sam recalled the text message. No police.

'Well, it's just that we haven't been going out that long and I'm running late. I don't want her to think I've stood her up. So, you said-'

'Can't you ring her?'

'She's not answering her phone. Can you just-'

'Oh dear, the course of true love never runs smooth. I've been there myself, you know.'

Sam felt like screaming at the woman, demanding that she just get to the point and tell him who Lucy had talked to. He told himself to stay calm. This woman was his best hope right now.

'No, it doesn't seem to be right now,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Look, I don't mean to be rude, but the sooner I find out where she is, the sooner we can-'

'I know,' she said, giving him a knowing wink before looking back over towards Lucy's block of flats. 'Now, a car pulled up over the road there, just before those flats. A white car. It pulled up alongside her.'

Sam listened hard, the dread rising within him.

'She bent down to talk to whoever was inside.'

He felt sick. He had an image of being Lucy being manhandled against her will and forced into the car.

'And then she got in.'

'She got in?' asked Sam, checking he hadn't misheard.

'Yes, love. She got into the back seat and the car drove off.'

Sam gazed over to the spot where the car would have stopped. The woman was telling him Lucy had got into it of her own accord. But that had to be the moment she was abducted. It made no sense to Sam. Why had she willingly got into a stranger's car?