Almost Love (39 page)

This is not really happening, she told herself, as she lay down docilely on the bed and allowed Oliver to apply fresh plastic ties and sticking plaster. She no longer had time for Jacob Sparham, Claudia McRae or even Oliver himself, or their weird political views and unpleasant ways of celebrating them. She wanted to think only of Tom . . . and of being released.

Before Oliver had retied the blindfold, she felt light penetrate the curtains briefly and disappear. The next minute heavy footsteps could be heard pounding along the corridor.

Chapter Fifty-Four

The Herrick children’s home was a Victorian mansion that had been built on the site of the original Herrick House, a fortified manor that had been the seat of the Herrick family when they had been minor mediaeval gentry. This ancestral building had been retained for service as a dower-house after the first Lord Herrick was ennobled and made great by Elizabeth I. Now too rich a man to inhabit a humble manor-house, he had built the opulent Herrick Great House that his descendants still occupied on the lands at Stamford, newly bestowed on him by the queen; but he had been too sentimental about the old family home to abandon it completely. Always in use as a dower-house, it had survived into the first half of the nineteenth century, when a shortage of suitable widows had caused it to fall into a state of dereliction beyond repair. The Lord Herrick of the day had ordered its partial demolition and built a workhouse on the site, thus beginning a tradition of conservative philanthropy that still persisted in the Herrick family.

The building that was now being silently surrounded by police had therefore been constructed with security in mind – the workhouse had been designed to be a semi-prison – on a piece of land whose original fortifications were still in place. It rose up baldly from its man-made mound and was encircled by cast iron railings. These in turn were surrounded by a moat which, although dry and grown shallower with the passing of time, still offered protection to the house. Under the direction of Andy Carstairs, officers were stationing themselves at intervals in the scrubby land around it.

The tall iron gates had been closed and possibly also locked. The house was in darkness, though occasionally lights could be seen flickering deep inside the building, as if people were moving through it by torchlight. Andy himself was concealed behind a solitary oak tree that grew close to the approach road so that he would be able to see advancing vehicles. DC MacFadyen came ducking through the bushes to talk to him.

“There are several vehicles in the compound at the rear of the house,” he said. “One of them is Guy Maichment’s Land Rover. And there is a large white van.”

“Is the compound inside the railings?”

“Yes. And the gates may well be locked, though I didn’t get close enough to try them. It’s difficult to guess how many of them are there, or in which part of the house; or where the children and their carers are, either. There must be quite a few of them if they can overpower those kids. Some of
them
can hold their own in a rough-house, believe me.”

“They wouldn’t give much trouble if the gang’s armed. Even the most reckless kids won’t want to argue if they’re on the wrong side of a gun.”

“We don’t know for sure that they
are
armed, do we?”

“No, but there’s a fair chance, if this is something to do with the drugs ring. The body that we found at Ayscoughfee had been shot.”

“It would help if we had some idea of the lay-out of the house. Do you think we could get hold of social services in Spalding and ask whether they have a floor-plan? It might show us where they’re likely to be holding the kids.”

“There won’t be time. When the response unit gets here, I think we’re going to have to go in. But I’ve just remembered that Gary Cooper came and stayed the night here with that boy who was caught couriering drugs. He must have seen some of the inside of the house. I sent him to Holbeach to try to bring Edmund Baker in, but Baker wasn’t there, so I told Cooper to get himself back over here. Do you know if he’s got here yet?”

“I’ll find out.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

By the time the two men entered the room, Alex was lying on the bed, handcuffed, foot-cuffed, blindfolded and gagged. Oliver had stayed with her.

“What are you doing in here?” said a rough voice. She recognised that it belonged to the man who had sat in the back of the van with her. He seemed to have forgotten his earlier instruction to Oliver not to speak in Alex’s presence.

“I’d just come in to make sure that she hadn’t tried anything. You told me to check on her every hour.”

“Well, it can’t have taken you very long. She’s still just lying there. Didn’t think she had much spirit. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked to piss.”

“Should I ask her if she’d like to use the bathroom now?”

“Nah. Just leave her. She can piss on the bed if necessary. You won’t mind about that, will you?”

“I – no. Not for the sake of the bed. I’d prefer not to have to compromise her dignity, though.”

“Listen, Mr Professor, she’s got a lot more to worry about than her
dignity
, believe me.”

“What’s the matter?” Oliver was trying to sound casual, but Alex could hear the catch in his voice. “Aren’t things going according to plan?”

“Not sure that I should tell you. I never believed that you were on our side. But if you must know, we’ve been held up. We can’t find it. And now someone has alerted the cops.” There was insinuation in the rough voice now, as well as menace.

“Well, I assure you that it wasn’t me. I’ve been here all the time. Since you’ve cut off the phone and taken my mobile, that should be enough proof for you that I haven’t contacted anyone. As if I would, anyway,” Oliver finished lamely.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you to stay in here with her now that we’re back. Get yourself downstairs, will you? Jared can wait outside the door here. You can make us some tea if you haven’t got anything better to do.”

Alex heard the door close. At first, she found it difficult to guess whether they had all left the room. After five minutes or so of complete silence, she divined that she was on her own once again. At intervals, she could hear someone shuffling about in the corridor beyond. She guessed that that was Jared. Without being certain, she felt, from his fidgety, unpredictable and brutish manner, that he was the one who had overpowered and trussed her in the van, whereas the driver had given the impression of being, if ruthless and unstoppable, intelligent and perfectly at ease with himself.

“Rubbish,” she thought, as she dozed off into merciful sleep again. “They’re all crooks, all amoral. They don’t have any finer qualities. None of them. Even Oliver, despite his punctilious concern. Like all of them, he’s really just out to serve his own ends.”

Chapter Fifty-Six

Tim Yates drove to Sleaford as fast as he could. He parked his car out of sight of Herrick Old House and was walking cautiously towards it when the semi-armoured vehicles carrying the response team pulled on to the verge behind him, hidden from the house by a tall laurel hedge.

Tim reached Andy Carstairs. “Do we know anything about who’s inside? Or how many of them there are? Has anyone been seen? What about the children?”

“We’ve haven’t seen anyone properly. There have been lights moving around in the building at intervals, front and back, and we’ve seen a few shadows. We think that Guy Maichment is in there, because his Land Rover is parked in the compound. We don’t have any other names. There is a large white van in the compound as well, but it’s showing false plates.”

“No-one inside the house has tried to make contact?”

“No.”

A short, wiry man joined them.

“DI Yates? I’m Sergeant Jubb.”

He was not the big-boned commando type that Tim had been expecting. He spoke with a strong Lincolnshire accent.

“Do you know the names of any of the hostage-takers?” he asked.

“Only one. We think that their leader is someone called Guy Maichment.”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve interviewed him a couple of times, but not as a suspect. He is the nephew of Claudia McRae, the archaeologist who disappeared a few weeks ago.”

“Has anyone tried to talk to him?”

“No. The officers we’ve brought here were told to make no contact until you arrived.”

Sergeant Jubb nodded.

“How many officers do you have deployed here?”

Tim looked at Andy.

“About twenty,” said Andy. “Some from our force, some from Peterborough. The North Lincs police are checking the roads and doing some other local searches,” he added, for Tim’s benefit.

Sergeant Jubb regarded Tim with keen blue eyes.

“Are you used to dealing with hostage-takers?” he asked. “I don’t mean the psychological stuff. I don’t have much time for that. Have you tried negotiating with any? Spoken to them through a megaphone?”

“No,” said Tim reluctantly. He knew that he was going to have to make a rapid decision here and that whether the children were rescued could depend on the accuracy of his judgment. He took in the slight, sinewy figure standing in front of him. Sergeant Jubb was a policeman, but he could have been a soldier. Tim guessed that although he was not a rash or impulsive man, he was probably not someone who would have the patience to spend much time ‘negotiating’. He would want to take the soldier’s route to a swift and efficient outcome. In short, he was a legitimate killing machine.

“We’ll have to assume they are aware of our presence. Do you want me to try talking to this Maichment? I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

Tim hesitated.

“It’s good of you, but I think I’d like to have a stab at it myself first. He’s quite a complicated character and I have some idea of how he thinks. If I don’t get anywhere, I’ll ask you to take over.”

Sergeant Jubb shrugged.

“Whatever you think is best. I wouldn’t make too much of a meal of it, though. If we hang about too long, they’ll think of ways of regrouping to make our job more difficult. And don’t forget about those kids. We don’t know what’s happening to them while we’re chewing the fat, do we?”

Tim swallowed. He knew what Superintendent Thornton would think and could hear the testy tone in which he would say it: “Don’t get in out of your depth. Leave it to the professionals, Yates.” The subtext would be: ‘Let this guy make the running; then, if it all goes wrong, South Lincs police won’t have to take the rap.’

Sergeant Jubb didn’t waste time on trying to argue. His mind had turned immediately to the practicalities of action.

“If you’re going to stand out there with a megaphone you’ll need a helmet and a bullet-proof vest,” he said. “I’ll get someone to kit you out.”

In less than five minutes, one of the armoured vehicles had pulled forward and Tim was dressed in a helmet and body armour and clutching a megaphone. While he was being prepared, Sergeant Jubb delivered a series of instructions in short, clearly-articulated sentences.

“Stand out to one side of the car, in the road so that they can see you clearly. Hold the megaphone in both hands or, if you want to hold it in just one of them, make sure that they can see you aren’t holding a weapon in the other. Be calm. Speak clearly and simply. If they agree to let you speak to Maichment, ask him what they want. At some point you’ll have to warn them that we’re armed. Make it clear that we don’t want to shoot, but say we will if we have to. Don’t make any promises, but don’t indicate to him that their situation is hopeless or say that they’re bound to be caught. They must be allowed to think that there is a way out for them. Try to take enough time to think about the likely implications of your replies before you speak. If Maichment gets down to specific requests, I’ll be here to advise you. We’ll leave the doors open on your side and I’ll crouch down behind. If you think that you’re in danger, throw yourself flat on the ground and then get behind one of the doors or round the back. We’ll be covering you.”

“Thanks,” said Tim. He swallowed again. As he walked slowly out into the road, he realised that he was terrified; the piercing fear that was shooting through his whole being almost paralysed him, so that his legs felt as if they were made of rubber. A vivid image of Katrin laughing up at him, sharing some private joke, flashed before his eyes. He should have told her about this operation. He should have made his peace with her, got to the bottom of what was troubling her. He should have said good-bye properly, in case . . .

He flung the thought to one side and turned on the megaphone. He refused to be intimidated by a little shit like Guy Maichment. He held up the megaphone, using both hands as Sergeant Jubb had directed. He kept it to one side of his face so that he could see the outline of the house in front of him. Suddenly a thick shaft of yellow light illuminated the central section of the house, including the main gate and the door beyond it. With a start, Tim realised that the headlights of the armoured response vehicle had been switched on. If anyone emerged from the house he would have a clear view of them now, whilst to them he would be invisible.

“Press on! Get started now!” Sergeant Jubb whispered with sibilant impatience.

“This is Detective Inspector Tim Yates,” Tim enunciated in a voice that sounded strange filtered through the megaphone, but was clear and strong. “Can you hear me? I’m guessing that Guy Maichment is with you. If he is, I’d like to speak to him.”

There was a prolonged silence. The beam of the headlights continued to light up the old house. No-one appeared. Nothing moved.

Tim’s mobile started to ring. It was in his jacket pocket. He was wearing his jacket over the bullet-proof vest, so the mobile was within reach, but he could only answer it if he put down the megaphone. He hesitated.

“Ignore it!” whispered Sergeant Jubb. “It’s probably nothing to do with this.”

The phone stopped ringing.

“Try again,” said Sergeant Jubb. “Tell him we’re armed now. Tell him that if he doesn’t answer you, we’re coming in.”

Tim was sweating. He knew that to ‘go in’ aggressively could cause deaths.

“Hello?” he shouted again. “Can you hear me? It’s DI Yates. I want to speak to Guy Maichment. I am accompanied by armed police. We don’t want to hurt you. We just want to talk.”

The phone was ringing again.

“Leave it,” said Sergeant Jubb. “Put the megaphone down and get into the back.”

Tim did as he was told.

“Now look and see who was calling before you . . .”

Sergeant Jubb got no further before Tim’s phone emitted the series of urgent beeps that indicated that a text message was waiting.

“What does it say?”

Tim screwed up his eyes in order to decipher the words that had appeared on the screen.

“DI Yates, take your men and leave. Do not interfere with our work here. If you don’t do as we ask, Alex Tarrant will die. She is not here and you won’t find her first.”

The message was not signed.