The Catch (54 page)

Gordon’s first impression was of a man just beginning to crack under the strain, while valiantly striving to ignore that fact. His suit was crumpled, the jacket lopsided, as though it didn’t fit him properly. Gordon wouldn’t have dreamt of going out in public looking this shabby.

He realised that he and Patricia hadn’t decided how to broach the issue of Caitlin’s ex-husband. It seemed a low priority for Patricia, who spent several minutes gushing about Robert Scott, and how perfect he would be in the role of frontman.

Stemper greeted the proposal with muted scepticism. ‘Does Scott have any idea that you’re holding his sister?’

Gordon shook his head. Patricia said, ‘None at all.’

Quite emphatic. And that was fine, Gordon thought. There was only the little commotion as Robbie was leaving, which they’d explained plausibly enough.

Patricia added, ‘Our other great advantage is that he knows nothing about you.’

‘So once he’s secured the payout, my job is to remove him from the scene?’

‘If you’d be so kind.’ Patricia had agreed with Gordon that this was the line to take, even though she currently favoured sparing Robbie and eliminating Stemper.

‘And the girl?’ Stemper asked.

‘The same fate, alas. Though we keep her alive for now.’

‘Do you mind if I check on her?’

‘Not at all,’ Patricia said, stepping forward. ‘I’ll accompany you.’

She exchanged the briefest of glances with Gordon, which he took to mean that she preferred to discuss the ‘Martin’ issue discreetly, just the two of them.

‘A coffee, in the meantime?’ she asked brightly.

‘Actually,’ Stemper said, ‘a pot of tea would be marvellously refreshing.’

Patricia looked to Gordon – the skivvy – who as usual felt he had little choice but to bury his resentment and grin like the imbecile he probably was.

‘Coming right up.’

Stemper had anticipated that Cate would tell them about Martin, which no doubt explained the rather taut atmosphere as they climbed the stairs. But he was intrigued by Patricia’s fulsome admiration for Robert Scott.

‘This is a transformation,’ she said. ‘I’ve told Gordon we should swallow our pride and accept that it’s a godsend, of sorts.’

‘Indeed.’

‘He’s coming back in the morning. I wonder if that’s when we should make the first approach to Templeton. Have Robbie phone from here, so we can gauge how well he performs.’

‘But you’d prefer that I was absent?’

‘I think so.’ She chuckled. ‘Unless you’d care to hide in a cupboard?’

Stemper laughed politely. Patricia unlocked the bedroom door, then stood aside to let him take a look. The woman was now blindfolded with a scarf, and she had been crudely gagged. Stemper regarded her for a few seconds, her body frozen in terror.

He withdrew, and as Patricia locked up he said, ‘The gag is a good idea, but you have to be careful of the suffocation risk.’

His tone was deliberately stern. He saw her frown as she moved towards the stairs. Stemper cleared his throat to regain her attention. At the same time he took the gun from his jacket. It was a Glock 26, complete with noise suppressor. The magazine contained seventeen rounds of 9mm ammunition.

Patricia looked faintly aghast but perceived no danger to herself, judging by the way she said, ‘What’s that thing for?’

He raised the gun. ‘For killing you, I’m afraid.’

Patricia said, ‘No.’ Then, ‘Stemper, please—’

He fired once, hitting her in the chest. The noise was little more than a click, easily misinterpreted at close range. The sound of the spent shell hitting the wall was only slightly louder.

Stemper darted forward, reaching for Patricia’s arm while pressing the silencer into her belly and firing again. Her eyes, still open as she slumped against him, shone with desolation.

He lowered her to the floor to lessen the impact, and when she was down he fired once more, to the head. Messy, but it looked passionate. It looked like an act of rage and retribution, exactly as he wanted it.

****

Cate heard it all, a succession of strange noises that she struggled to place in context. She’d sensed two people approaching the door and had braced herself for pain. But after a brief look inside, the door closed and there was a murmur of voices. One of them was the woman from earlier, the vicious cow who’d hurt her.

Then a click, and a pinging noise, as if something metal had struck the wall. A groan, and the creak of a floorboard, then more clicks and pings, and after that a single set of footsteps that receded and left Cate with only silence and a sickening impression that a bad situation had just become very much worse.

****

Gordon was trying to remember if he’d seen Stemper drink tea before. Normally he had coffee, or water. Why tea all of a sudden? Then the man himself was back in the kitchen. Alone.

‘Where’s Patricia?’

‘With our prisoner,’ Stemper said. ‘I think she’s as keen on Caitlin as you are.’

Ignoring the impertinence, Gordon said, ‘Did she mention Cate’s ex-husband?’

‘Martin? No. She may have intended to, but she didn’t quite get the chance.’

A mystifying comment. Gordon expressed that mystification in a single word: ‘Didn’t ...?’

By then Stemper had brought out a gun and was pulling the trigger. Three times, in quick succession, and with each one he took a step closer. All three shots hit Gordon with a very distinct impact, but he was aware of no pain, so there was a millisecond when he was riddled with bullets but still alive, not hurting – a survivor, he thought, against impossible odds – and then he realised that his legs were giving way beneath him and understood that he was quite, quite dead.

****

Not dead enough for Stemper. He fired another three shots, including one to the face. He had never liked Gordon’s face. Too smooth and tanned and smug.

To a degree, Stemper enjoyed this hit more than most. Not that it was personal, really; just immensely satisfying, from a professional point of view. Like any good magician, Stemper loved to spring surprises.

There was plenty to do: clean up, remove evidence, plant other evidence, report back on the success of his mission. But first he pulled on latex gloves. Then he checked on the progress of his tea.

****

As much as Cate could track the passage of time, she thought it was around twenty minutes before the door opened again. The footsteps were firm, not heavy. No perfume in the air.

If it was the man who’d questioned her earlier, she knew what he would be after. She had steeled herself to encourage him, to exploit his lust in exchange for making her more comfortable – and perhaps giving her a chance to escape. Nothing robbed a man of his good sense more than a hard-on.

She tensed as he touched her leg, examining the injured toe. Her stomach cramped with horror; maybe it was his scent, or the rhythm of his breathing, but she realised it wasn’t the man from earlier. This was her abductor. The man who had tortured her.

A spasm of panic made her body jerk as if electrocuted. In response he gently squeezed her arm.

‘Settle down. I’m not going to hurt you.’ His bedside manner as dispassionate as ever, like an efficient but jaded GP.

Holding her still with one hand, he used his other to peel off the tape that covered her mouth. Cate coughed and spat, trying to eject the gag. His fingers were on her lips; she tasted latex, but the sinister implication of the gloves was lost in the wave of relief that the gag was out and she could breathe freely again. She could swallow. She could talk.

‘There’s something I want you to do for me,’ he told her. ‘If you cooperate, I’m prepared to make things easier for you. If you don’t, I’ll make you suffer.’

Robbie didn’t dawdle over his meal, but he didn’t rush it, either. He felt sure that Cate was fine. She’d always been the moody sort, and was probably just trying to get her head straight after Martin’s death.

The drive back was hampered by school-run traffic, but it was still one of the most enjoyable journeys of his life. Figuring out how to blow a couple of million quid – even if only hypothetically at this point – made any tailback bearable.

He was in Brighton for ten to four. His phone rang as he was crossing the city boundary. He had it on hands-free, and leaned forward to read the display. It was the number the Blakes had given him, so he answered breezily, radiating confidence and good cheer.

‘Hello there!’

A drab male voice said, ‘Mr Scott, I’m acting on behalf of Gordon and Patricia for the next stage of the operation. From now on you’ll deal with me.’

‘Hold on.’ Distracted by the roundabout he was trying to negotiate, Robbie couldn’t adjust to what he was hearing. ‘When did that get decided?’

‘This afternoon, shortly after your meeting.’

‘So who are you?’

‘You can call me Jerry.’ The voice was soft, dry and humourless. ‘If you’re driving at the moment, can I suggest you pull over? I have a message from your sister, and you need to give it your full attention.’

A car in front braked. Robbie gunned the engine and overtook, cutting back in just before a traffic island, then took a sharp left into the pub car park. He slewed into an empty space and grabbed the phone.

‘Let me speak to Patricia.’

‘That’s not possible. Her instructions are very clear.’

‘Bollocks. How do I know this isn’t a bluff?’

In response, a different voice in his ear. His sister, though it didn’t quite sound like Cate. It was a recording, he realised, and fear had constricted her throat.

‘Robbie, it’s me. Please ... please do what he says. My life depends on you. Please don’t let me down.’

A sob, cut short as the recording ended. Then Jerry was back. ‘First rule: no contact with the police. I’m sure you’re only too happy to comply with that.’

‘What do you want?’

‘The paperwork you took from Hank O’Brien.’

Robbie glanced out of the window, saw a red Corsa turning into the car park. Dan was at the wheel. What was it he’d said yesterday afternoon?
There’s always a catch
.

Robbie took a deep breath and said, in his most commanding voice: ‘I need to speak to the Blakes.’

‘No, Mr Scott. What you need to do is think very carefully about this. Caitlin will remain safe for as long as you follow instructions.’

For a second – one long, greedy, shameful second – Robbie was tempted to call this man’s bluff. Tell him to piss off, to do what he liked with Cate: the paperwork was going nowhere till Robbie had his cash.

Then Jerry said, ‘If you’re wavering, consider what happened to your former brother-in-law. I opened up his femoral artery in the middle of a crowded shopping street. As deaths go, it was relatively quick and painless. Your sister won’t be nearly so lucky. I’ll be in touch again.’

‘Wait a—’

****

Dan had fled the house before either Joan or his brother returned. He made one more futile trip to Caitlin’s home, then reached the pub for four o’clock. As he got out of the Corsa he noticed Robbie on the phone and saw the tension in his posture. Running to the BMW, he snatched the door open and heard Robbie exclaim: ‘Wait a—’

‘Who was that?’

Robbie was staring at the phone as though it were a black hole about to swallow him up. Dan had to repeat the question before Robbie acknowledged his presence.

‘It ... it was Jerry. Claimed to be Jerry, anyway.’

‘What about Cate? Is she all right?’

‘She’s alive.’

‘Have you spoken to her?’

Robbie gave a dazed shrug, still cut adrift from reality.

‘For Christ’s sake ...’ Dan snatched the phone from his grasp. ‘Tell me what’s going on or I’ll call the police and you can tell them instead.’

He started to walk away. Robbie scrambled out of the car, frantically calling him back.

‘All right, all right.’ He raised his hands in surrender. ‘But let’s go inside. I need a drink.’

****

Ignoring a protest from Dan, Robbie ordered a Scotch. Dan had grapefruit juice. They found a table, and Robbie described his visit to the Blakes, their apparent enthusiasm for his proposal, and then this strange, disturbing call.

‘According to Hank’s journal, the Blakes employed a guy called Jerry to run errands and act as go-between. This Jerry now seems to have taken Cate hostage. He wants to exchange her for the stuff I found at the farm.’

Dan was sitting forward on a low chair, his chin in his hands. ‘You have to go to the police.’

‘No way. Do that and we won’t see her again.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘You don’t wanna know.’ That earned a glare from Dan. Robbie gulped down the Scotch and said, ‘This guy isn’t bluffing. He killed Martin.’

Dan rocked back in his seat. ‘So DS Thomsett was right about a link?’ He searched out Robbie’s gaze. ‘You realise what this means? Our actions last Tuesday led directly to Martin being stabbed ...’

Robbie preferred not to dwell on it. The situation still hadn’t assumed the full weight of reality in his mind.

‘It makes no sense,’ he said. ‘Why change tack like this?’

‘You’re trying to extort a fortune out of them. Didn’t you think there would be consequences?’

‘Keep your voice down.’ Robbie checked that no one was listening, then said, ‘Honestly, Dan, if you’d been there, if you’d seen how they reacted ... it was like I was their bloody saviour. I wasn’t taking money off them. I was gonna help them get very, very rich.’

‘Then what are the other possibilities? Why would Jerry be doing this?’

Robbie clicked his fingers, a sudden recollection. ‘They told me they’d sacked him. So maybe he’s gone rogue.’ He stopped. ‘But he rang me from their phone. And what he actually said was “You can call me Jerry.” That’s a funny phrase to use.’