Due Process (5 page)

“Did he ever bring anyone with him when he saw Mr. Purcell?”

She thought for a moment.

“No. He always came alone. Tony never made any comment about him, other than to give him one star.”  She explained the star system.

“He wasn’t a very nice person, Paul Justin, but I’m sorry he’s dead. Was his death suspicious?”

D.C. Blake shook his head.

“Nothing conclusive…nothing that can be proved. As the papers have already reported, death was by an overdose of a controlled substance and/or drowning.”

They paused for a while and sipped their drinks.  The café was buzzing with the sound of the people around them, chatting and laughing.  She didn’t feel like laughing at the moment.

They went on to discuss her view on Tony’s home life – his marriage, his wife, his work.  Sarah could offer nothing that might give a clue as to his disappearance.

They ordered more drinks, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Now that I think about it…”  Sarah began, “there were a lot of mysterious telephone calls.”

“When, can you remember?”

“Let me think for a moment.  Yes, it would have been just before I left.  Someone kept asking for Tony but wouldn’t leave his name.  When I told Tony about the calls he told me to give them his mobile number.”

“So you’ve no idea who it was?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head.

“No, but after that he started getting quite a few text messages.  He didn’t say who they were from but he did seem a little troubled by them.”

D.C. Blake wrote it all down, anxious not to miss anything of importance.  He checked through what he had written, and then folded the notebook and put it in his briefcase.

“Thank you, Sarah.  I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.  If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”  He handed her a card.

“Do you think Tony is alright?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“It’s hard to say. These could be a series of coincidences, but the threats are very real.” He handed her a card. “Please ring me if you think of anything that might help.”

Sarah Greenwood rubbed her temples. She wasn’t sure just how much she should tell the nice detective.  If he got any hint of the information she had passed on she might have to give the money back.  She might even go to prison or something.

She wasn’t really sure whether she had done anything illegal, but there was an element of doubt, and of course there was always the issue of breach of client confidentiality that she had probably broken.  But she was sure her actions had nothing to do with Paul Justin’s death or Tony’s disappearance, and her confessing would not help the situation at all.

Besides, she certainly did not want to give the money back and return to England broke and probably jobless too.  So she decided to keep what she knew to herself.

“I feel so awful that I’ve caused so much confusion,” she said apologetically.

As D.C. Blake left a man sitting at the bar picked up his phone and dialed a number.

“I think it’s time to move in on this one,” he said.

*   *   *

The rain was so torrential it looked like someone was aiming a hosepipe at the window. Amanda sat in the well-worn armchair and felt mesmerized by the cascades of water streaming down the glass.  She looked around her in dismay.  Just a short while ago she had been so happy in their little cottage with its funny nooks and crannies, her handsome husband and bubbly daughter completing her vision.  Now she looked around and took in the shabby room, the tired-looking carpet, the pink walls, and the drab curtains.

              She couldn’t stay here any longer.  Had it really only been two days?  It seemed like a lifetime. 

              She sniffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust.  The room was stuffy and had a strange odour. Probably mould. With a sigh she reached for her handbag and took out her phone. Her finger hovered over the keys. She closed down the phone as she felt the room spinning like a crazy fairground ride.  She wiped away the tears as they ran down her cheeks but then gave up trying to stop the flow. It was like trying to catch rain in a sieve. She was crying for Jenny, but she was crying for Tony, too.  She missed him so much her whole body hurt.  Fear was liquidizing her insides.

As she looked around the sparse room she knew without a doubt what she had to do. Although D.C.Blake had insisted she should not leave the house, she didn’t intend to stay there a minute longer. She looked out the window and saw it was still pouring with rain. She had no coat.

Always use a public telephone.

That was what she had been told.

Never, ever call. Unless they find you.

Had they?

If you call us, it will be over.

She picked up her phone, thought for a moment as she tried to remember the number that had been ingrained in her memory.  Then she dialed.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Miranda Bell.  I think they’ve found me.”

*   *   *

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Tony awoke the pounding in his head was so bad it felt like he was inside a compressor.  His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, and he winced with pain from his stomach every time he tried to move.  It took a while for him to remember what had happened, but slowly the memory returned.

              He had been watching Jenny whizz down the slide.  He had thought how good it was for them all to spend some time together. He knew he had been working too much. He recalled thinking it was time for a family holiday. Somewhere warm and sunny, where Jenny could play on the beach and Amanda could show off her amazing body in a skimpy bikini.

              He had watched his wife as she went to get ice-creams, calling to Jenny as she went. She had a great wiggle when she walked. He turned back to check on Jenny his view was obscured by two burly men. They seemed to tower over him.  He had leaned sideways to try to get out of their way.

              “Excuse me,” he had murmured, but his frown became deeper as the men moved in front of him.  He tried again the other way and the same thing happened.

              “Are you trying to be funny?” he had asked them.

              One of the men had a buzz haircut and looked like a forces guy, maybe marines from the size of his shoulders.  His clothes were smart and sturdy, black trousers, white shirt, laced boots.  The other guy looked more like an ex-fighter, with a bent nose and a bullish forehead. In contrast his clothes consisted of torn jeans and a well-worn sweatshirt. The buzz-cut grabbed Tony’s arm and dragged him off the bench.

              Tony had yelled out.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

              He started to struggle, trying to pull his arm away from the iron grip. Then the boxer had him by the other arm.

              “Just keep it quiet,” hissed Buzz cut.

              Tony had no intention of keeping anything quiet, and kicked out at the boxer’s knee, making him yell in pain. But the iron grip remained. They were big men, and Tony was not, and they easily lifted him off his feet.  Boxer punched him in the stomach for good measure. He tried to call out, but the boxer was holding something over his face.  Then he had passed out.

              Now he lay in the dark on what felt like a mattress.  There was an odd smell that he couldn’t quite place, and a dim light glowed along the bottom of a door near his feet.  He had no idea how long he had been unconscious, or where he might be.  Most importantly, he had no idea why.

              He heard low voices and assumed the two men were in the adjacent room. He strained to hear what they were saying, but could not understand anything. The pounding in his head was louder than their muffled voices.  He tried tentatively to sit up but quickly laid his head back down on the mattress. Even in the darkness the room was spinning.

              Tony struggled to clear his head and try to make some sense of what had happened. Why on earth had he been taken against his will and who were the two men who had chloroformed him and brought him here? And where exactly was this place?

              None of it made any sense.  The pain in his head became unbearable and he passed into unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyes again he felt like he had slept for days.  The sharp pains in his head had subsided and were now a dull ache.  His stomach still hurt when he moved, but otherwise he thought he could risk sitting up.  He slid his feet over the side of the mattress and sat upright. The mattress was on the floor, no bedstead, so his knees nearly touched his chin.  Slowly he pushed himself up and stood shakily and waited for the room to stay still.

              He thought it seemed a little lighter, so perhaps it was daylight outside. Now he could see a window behind the mattress with dull, damp curtains hanging limply.  He screwed up his nose. The curtains smelled musty. That must have been what he smelled earlier.  He moved them aside and saw bars at the window.  Outside was a square of grass and a wooden fence. He couldn’t see anything else from where he stood. But at least he knew it was during the day, and he was somewhere quiet. Maybe the countryside. He strained to see further and noticed the branches of a few trees.

              There was no sound from the room beyond. Perhaps his captors had left.  He walked steadily to the door, gripped the handle, and turned.  It was locked, which was no surprise.  He rattled the door and put his shoulder against it and pushed, but it would not give a centimetre.  He returned to the window and pulled the curtains right back, and then turned and looked around the room.  It was small, about six feet square.  The mattress lay on the floor along one wall, and along the opposite wall stood a wooden table and one plastic chair. A bottle of water and a few slices of bread and an apple lay on the table. There was nothing else in the room.

              He sat at the chair and took a long swig of the water and began to nibble at the bread.  He wondered how long he had been out of it. Judging by his hunger, he guessed it to be some time.  He ate two slices of the bread and took a bite from the apple, and tried to gather his thoughts and make some sense of what had happened.  It had to be a case of mistaken identity.  Why on earth would anyone want to kidnap him?

              He briefly went through his list of clients. True, not all were of savoury character, but to his knowledge there was no-one who was in so much trouble or flying so close to the wind that they needed to abduct their lawyer.

              Then he thought of Jenny.  She would be alright, Amanda would have been there. Did Amanda see what happened, he wondered?  What must she be thinking?

              He thought of his lovely wife and the years they had spent together. He remembered the first time they had met. He had been sailing his little boat along the back inlets of the broads, and she had been sitting at the river’s edge on a little stool, fishing rod resting on her knee, and a look of contentment on her face.  Fishing.  What woman went fishing? Didn’t they go shopping and have coffee with friends and go to parties?  Not this woman. She was clearly enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the river, and he knew as soon as he saw her that he had found his kindred spirit.

              He had steered the boat past her a couple of times, and each time she had to reel in her line so he didn’t snag it in his motor.  The first time she barely acknowledged him.  The second time she looked more annoyed.  As he turned the boat around on the third occasion she placed her rod on the grass, stood up, and confronted him.

              “Do you have a problem?” she had asked.

              He cut the motor and drifted in to the river bank beside her.  She threw up her hands in exasperation.

              “Well, I might as well give up now,” she shouted.

              He said nothing, just smiled at her.

              “What?, she asked.  “What are you smiling at? Don’t you realise you have scared all the fish away?”

              He just waited, and kept smiling.  She glared at him, picked up her rod and began reeling in the line, glancing at him every so often.  He watched silently as she meticulously gathered together her fishing paraphernalia, lifted up her net to reveal two reasonable sized roach, tipped them into the water, and folded the net away. He watched her for about ten minutes, and then just as she was preparing to leave he spoke.

              “Would you like to come for a ride up river?”

              She glared at him but said nothing.

              “I know a great fishing spot.”

              He saw the flicker of interest in her eyes, and knew she was hooked.

He smiled as he remembered, but then reality dawned.  Amanda and Jenny were alone, and he wanted to be with them.  At that moment he heard a noise and the sound of a key turning, and the door opened.

              Boxer stood at the door scowling.

              “He’s awake,” he growled, and motioned for Tony to follow him. They walked into another room that had a sofa, a chair, and a fire burning in the grate.  Tony’s eyes immediately went to the window where he saw more bars. There was another door to the left leading, he presumed and desperately hoped, to a bathroom.  Buzzcut lounged on the sofa.

              “I need to visit the bathroom,” croaked Tony, his voice hoarse and his throat sore. Buzzcut tilted his head to the door and Tony hurried inside.  The bathroom was old and bare, a seatless toilet and a stained sink the only items there.  He quickly relieved himself and ran the tap and washed his hands and face.  The icy water seemed to revive his senses. He took a deep breath and went back through the door to face his abductors.

              Boxer stood by the fire warming the backs of his legs, and Buzzcut still loafed on the sofa.  Tony recalled the way they had taken him from the park, and he felt anger and confusion stirring in his stomach.

              “What’s this all about?” he asked, glaring from one to the other. Buzzcut casually crossed his legs and glared back.

              “Now, that’s for us to know and you to wonder.”

              “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony said, spreading out his hands. “What am I supposed to have done?”

              Buzzcut grinned.

              “Let’s just say we may as well get along, because we’re going to be together for a while.”

              Tony took a step towards Buzzcut and Boxer was in front of him immediately.

              “Sit” he barked.

              Tony remained standing, his eyes moving from one man to the other.  He decided to try a conciliatory approach.  He had found in the past this often worked with irate clients and the counselling training he had received a few years ago should help.

              “Look guys, why don’t you tell me what this is all about.  I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. Is this something to do with one of my clients?”

              “You’ll find out in due course,” said Buzzcut, shifting on the sofa.  “Now sit down and we can have a nice friendly discussion.”

              Tony kept his eyes on Boxer as he moved towards the sofa and lowered himself gingerly down.

              “Feeling a bit tender?” asked Buzzcut.  Tony nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on Boxer who was back in front of the fire.

              “Whoever you think I am, you’ve got the wrong person.”

              Boxer smirked. “I don’t think so,” he said.

              “I’m Tony Purcell, a lawyer from Walsham.  I deal in criminal law. I live in a cottage near the town with my wife and daughter.”

              “Ah, yes,” said Buzzcut, linking his fingers and cracking his knuckles loudly. “Yes, we know all that.  In fact, we probably know more than you do.”

              “What do you mean by that?” asked Tony, perplexed.

              Buzzcut looked at Boxer.  “Shall we tell him?”

              Boxer began to rub his chin as if he was thinking about it.

              “Tell me what?” Tony was becoming more and more concerned by the way the men were toying with him.  This was no game.  This didn’t appear to be a case of mistaken identity.  Something was going on here, although he had no idea what. 

              “For a start,” began Buzzcut, “you  did live in a cottage, but you no longer do, because it doesn’t exist any more.  It disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

              This seemed to amuse the men and they both laughed loudly.

              “Literally,” declared Boxer.

              “Pooff…” said Buzzcut.

              Tony could feel the bile rising from his bruised stomach.

              “What do you mean?” he asked, turning towards the man sitting beside him.

              “Oh, go on, tell him,” said Boxer, sticking his hands in his pockets and shuffling closer to the fire.

              “The little cottage sort of – burned. To ashes. Finito.”

              “Oh my God,” said Tony, putting his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes and swept his hair back with his fingers.

              “My family?” he asked, hardly bearing to hear the answer. “What about my family?”

              Buzzcut sat forward.

              “Funny you should ask that. Now me and Jake here we would really like to discuss your family.”

              Jake grew red in the face.

              “You idiot. Now he knows my name.” He turned to Tony,  pointing at the man beside him.

              “And he’s Clive. So now you know.”

              Tony had seen enough thrillers to know if was not good for him to know his captors names. His palms became greasy and he felt the sweat rolling between his shoulder blades. He decided to keep quiet.

              “You’re the idiot,” said the man named Clive, getting up abruptly and barging his shoulder into Jake.  The two squared up to each other, sticking their chests out and pushing like a pair of rutting stags. Tony tried to move his head slightly to look at the door behind him, the door that probably led outside.  He winced as a pain shot through his temple, the residue from the chloroform, he thought.