The Hawkshead Hostage (24 page)

He tried to speak, but only managed a syllable before his throat dried up too much for speech. She had been silently counting minutes, at the back of her mind. Simmy had almost had time to fetch water and drop it into the cellar. ‘I’m going down,’ said Bonnie. ‘It’s all going to be fine, you see.’

She stroked his clammy brow and forced herself back down the stairs, through the hole in the floor and down into the cobwebs and dust of the cellar.

The bottle was there, catching the light and gleaming like treasure. It had not suffered from its fall, and it was wonderfully big. She would pour it all into Ben and save his life. And she would never go anywhere ever again without a bottle of water.

Back upstairs, she pulled off the cap and pulled Ben more upright. In her absence, his eyes had closed again, and his breathing was even louder. He was lying on his side, curled up, his face turned towards the floor, his hands between his thighs.

‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Drink this.’ She tried to apply the mouth of the bottle to his lips, but the angle was wrong
and it spilt onto the floor. ‘Ben! Wake up. I’ve got water for you.’

But he did not respond. Desperately she poured a small trickle onto his face, hoping to shock him awake. But nothing happened. She pulled at him, rolling him onto his back and then trying to prop him against the wall, but only managed to crumple him awkwardly, so his chin rested on his chest. The bottle got knocked, and she caught it just in time. Could he swallow, she wondered. Lifting his head, she made another try at introducing some water.

She gave him too much, so he coughed it out again. At least the coughing was a sign of life, she thought, as she started again more gently. This time, he did swallow – she was sure he did. His lips closed around the plastic, like a sucking baby.

They continued in that way for a while, with Bonnie refusing to think of anything but trickling water into Ben’s body, reviving him from the terrifying slump he was in. So when she heard footsteps and voices coming up the bare wooden stairs, she was paralysed. There was nowhere to hide, no choice but to stay where she was and face the people who might well want her boyfriend dead, in spite of her assurances a few minutes earlier.

Simmy was acutely aware of people’s stares, as she ran around the empty shop, peering through its windows, curving her hands around her face to shut out the dazzling sunlight. It was so weird to think that a room somewhere above that big space – so easily visible to the shoppers and sightseers outside – was hosting a scene of violence and horror. She briefly entertained a notion of standing there and screaming for help. She would gather a crowd of fifty people who would storm the building and save Ben and Bonnie from the Lillywhites. People power would prevail. Why not?

Then a very obvious thought belatedly came to her. If the kidnappers had opened the padlock and gone in, the door must surely have been left open behind them. There was no way they could padlock it from the inside. At best they would have to ram it shut with some sort of object. Which door had they used? She had been a
fool to go off and let them disappear. But she’d had no choice – Ben needed the water more urgently than anything else. Her thoughts tangled and leapt from one detail to the next as she ran round again, checking the padlocks.

She found it within seconds. The chain that had connected the door to its frame was dangling loose, the padlock nowhere to be seen. But it wouldn’t open when she pushed it. Like the door of her own neglected shop, there was an ordinary lock, operated with an ordinary key, and that was keeping her out. So why the padlock, she wondered crossly.

Her phone broke into her helpless frustration and she snatched it eagerly from her bag, hoping it was Bonnie with good news.
How could it be?
asked a sceptical inner voice. Bonnie was trapped as much as Ben was. Her best hope was probably to huddle in a corner of the cellar and wait for someone to pull her out through the disconcertingly small window.

It was Melanie. ‘You didn’t call me back,’ she accused. ‘What are you doing? Where are you?’

‘Almost exactly where I was last time, as it happens. It’s all going wrong. The police haven’t come.’ She couldn’t remember what she’d told Melanie the first time she called. Any complex doubts as to who knew what had long been discarded. She couldn’t even remember the last time she and Bonnie and Melanie had all been in the same place at the same time.

‘But Ben’s okay, right? That’s what you said. What about the kidnappers? Have you seen them?’

‘Yes, I think so. I’m sorry, Mel. It’s all happening, right
here. But I can’t get in and I’m petrified they’ll be hurting Bonnie and Ben. They don’t know I’ve called the police. They’ll think they can do what they like.’

‘That woman – with the tight skirt and heels. She’s called Sheila. She’s some sort of estate agent. She sells and rents out commercial properties. I found some of her emails to Dan. She wanted to sell something to the Lillywhite couple, apparently, but that wasn’t her reason for coming to the hotel. She’s trying to arrange a fair, with a whole lot of shops and things all being advertised at once. It’d be in our big room here. She’s desperate to get everything organised in time for September.’

‘How does that link to what’s going on here?’ Simmy’s impatience had reached screaming pitch. ‘What does it matter?’

‘At the very least it means she’s innocent. She’s got no reason to kill or kidnap anybody.’

‘But—’ Then Simmy saw a figure who had so often before been at hand when events became unbearable. Except, not always, she remembered. He was improving, then. Or she was mellowing, because she didn’t think she had ever in her life been so glad to see anyone. She abruptly ended the call with Melanie.

Although he appeared to be alone, she was confident that there was a whole team of sturdy officers tucked around the corner somewhere. She almost ran towards him, resisting the urge to hug him with the greatest difficulty. ‘Oh, thank you for coming,’ she gasped. ‘They’re all in there now. You can catch them easily.’

He wiped a hand across his brow, rubbing at a spot between his eyes, as if working out the best way to convey
terrible news. ‘I think you’ve got the whole thing wrong,’ he said. ‘It’s not your fault. Those kids have been messing you about. We’ve just heard from Mrs Harkness. She says Ben’s perfectly safe, with his brother. It’s all over and done with now. Apart from making an arrest for the murder of Mr Yates, of course.’

‘No!’ She stared at him, her mouth open. ‘Has Helen
seen
him? Has Wilf? Somebody’s playing a trick on them. Ben’s in there. I
know
he is.’ She waved an unrestrained arm at the empty shop. ‘So’s Bonnie, and three – two – I don’t know … criminals.’

‘She’s quite certain about it. I’m not sure of the details, but the brother – Wilf – was called to a place in Ambleside, where Ben was waiting for him. They phoned their mother from the car. They’ll be home by now.’

‘It isn’t possible,’ she said flatly. ‘It can’t have been Wilf. Did Helen speak to Ben himself?’

Moxon shook his shoulders irritably. ‘I don’t know.’ He looked up at the shop. ‘How do you know anybody’s in there? It looks deserted to me.’

‘I saw Bonnie right there in that big room. Then she phoned me. Then I gave them some water. Then the Lillywhites and Sheila Something went in. At least, I didn’t see them going in, but the padlock’s undone, and they disappeared, so that must be where they went. Haven’t you got any backup, then?’ She almost wailed. ‘How can I make you believe me?’

‘It was Wilf’s phone. It was his voice. I have to take what his mother told me as right.’

‘No, you don’t, because I
saw
Bonnie. I saw the window
she broke to get in. I
know
she and Ben are in there.’

‘Window? Show me.’

But before she could lead him around to the back of the shop, they were both frozen in place by a piercing scream, which came from the upper floor of the building beside them. It was followed by a crash of breaking glass, and a shower of shards falling onto the pavement close to where they stood.

‘See,’ said Simmy, both relieved and appalled. The scream had sounded terrible. ‘Now will you do something?’

Moxon’s face was a mixture of alarm and confusion. ‘There’s only me,’ he said. ‘I can’t force an entry on my own.’

‘Coward!’ she spat at him. Hadn’t there been a time when he’d have had a police whistle, which summoned miraculous hordes of burly officers moments after being blown? Now he seemed incapable of any decisive action. ‘So call somebody,’ she urged.

Another scream put some fire in his belly and he began to set the process into motion. From Simmy’s point of view it was laborious and inefficient. She went to stand directly below the source of the broken glass and shouted, ‘Bonnie? Are you okay?’

There was no response. Or if there was, she couldn’t hear it, because a fair-sized crowd had already gathered and several people were talking loudly. Shopkeepers were leaving their posts behind their counters and coming out to see what was happening. They all stared up at the broken window. ‘Can’t have been double glazed,’ said a man. ‘They’re almost impossible to break.’

‘Somebody screamed,’ said a woman. ‘Who’s in there, then?’

It was the realisation of Simmy’s mad scheme, at least in part. She could very probably mobilise them into a rescue team, catching the wicked Lillywhites in the process. ‘There’s a boy in there, who’s been kidnapped,’ she shouted. ‘His girlfriend’s gone to rescue him, but his captors must be attacking her. It was her who screamed. Will somebody help me break in?’

Nobody moved. British people did not readily violate the rules to the extent of breaking down doors. They looked at her suspiciously, plainly doubting her credibility, if not her very sanity. It was, after all, a highly unlikely tale she was telling them. She remembered that the fact of Ben’s abduction had been kept out of the news. Nobody knew there was a missing boy.

‘Come
on
,’ she yelled at them. ‘You heard that scream.’

That was true. At least a few of them had heard it. And they could all see the shattered window. ‘All right, then,’ said a large man. ‘If you’re sure.’

‘Yes! That door – see the chain’s been unlocked. It’s just a Yale now. And the frame’s not very thick. I bet it’ll give quite easily.’

He gave her a considering look. ‘I’m not doing it with my shoulder,’ he said. ‘I need some sort of lever, like a crowbar.’

‘No, no,’ came Moxon’s voice. ‘I’m a police officer. I’ve called for backup. Leave it to us.’

More confusion as the people stared from him to Simmy and back, unable to draw any rational conclusions from the
few facts they could see for themselves. One or two plainly thought Moxon as unreliable as Simmy, if not more so. ‘You’re never a policeman,’ said a young woman. ‘Where’s your badge, then?’

With only a shred of dignity, he produced it. Simmy had not been sure that detectives carried such things, but supposed there must be times like this when credentials were required.

She tried to think. Inside the building there were three criminals and two young innocent victims. The noise outside must surely have got through to them by now, which meant they knew they couldn’t hope to escape. So what would they do? Who had broken the window, and why? Were they planning to burn the whole place down, with Ben and Bonnie inside? Or to leap from the upper window, in a desperate effort to get away? Why had they gone in there, anyway? Had they left possessions there that had to be retrieved?

Questions flocked through her mind, each one wilder than the one before. And then it struck her that she need no longer hesitate in phoning Bonnie. There was no possibility that the girl was hiding quietly in a cupboard. Her phone was still in her hand, and she activated it quickly.

By a miracle, Bonnie answered. More than a miracle – a sort of madness, in the midst of such chaos. It almost made Simmy laugh. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked. ‘Was that you who screamed?’

The girl’s voice was impossibly calm. ‘It’s nearly all over now,’ she said. ‘I can come down to let you all in. We need an ambulance for Ben. And me, I suppose.’

Simmy couldn’t speak. Her head had filled with cotton
wool, born of relief and amazement and a renewed desire to laugh for several minutes. She turned to Moxon, who was fending off demands for information from the ever-growing crowd of Hawkshead worthies. ‘Call an ambulance,’ she told him, after twice trying to get the words out and failing. ‘Bonnie says it’s all over now.’ She could feel hysteria bubbling somewhere in her chest. ‘She’s done it all without us.’

Mr Lillywhite advanced on the two youngsters, his eyes bulging. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded of Bonnie. ‘How did you get in here? What do you think you’re doing?’

She cuddled closer to Ben and scowled up at the man. ‘You killed Dan Yates, and half-killed Ben,’ she accused. ‘You and these women.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Lillywhite. ‘What a ridiculous accusation.’ She glanced at the other woman, looking worried.

‘So why are you here? How did
you
get in?’ Bonnie felt light-headed from the sense of having nothing to lose. If these people murdered her and Ben, at least they’d be together for ever. And there was no chance at all that the killers would escape punishment. There was definitely satisfaction in that thought. But before that happened, she was determined to put up a fight. ‘You came to finish him off, is that it?’

‘We’re thinking of taking this place on. This is Sheila, the agent. We’ve been looking around for somewhere all
week, and this seems our best option.’ Mrs Lillywhite spoke calmly, her words clipped and firm, but her eyes flickered from face to face, and her skin looked bloodless. ‘We had no idea at all that there was anybody up here until we heard you moving just now.’

‘Liar!’

They all looked at the boy, curled on the ground. His revival was a greater shock to Bonnie than to anyone else. She had believed him to be lost in unconsciousness. The word came out loud and clear, but his eyes remained shut.

‘What did he say?’ Mr Lillywhite growled.

‘He said you’re a liar and I believe him. I think you murdered Dan Yates by Esthwaite and kidnapped Ben because he saw you there, red-handed.’

‘Sheer fantasy,’ snapped the man. ‘Childish storytelling.’

‘So why’s Ben here, then? How did he get here?’ Bonnie looked from husband to wife, her face an unwavering challenge. ‘You can’t even invent a credible denial,’ she added with scorn. Beside her, Ben gave a low chuckle of approval. In spite of everything, she was enjoying herself. It got even better when the other woman joined in.

‘This is all highly peculiar,’ she said. ‘How
do
you explain this boy being here?’

‘Your guess is as good as ours,’ said Mrs Lillywhite. ‘I’m telling you, we had no idea he was here. You saw for yourself that the padlock was undisturbed. These children must have got in through a window or something. And the boy’s been fooling about, tying himself up, and got more than he’d bargained for. Who knows what kids like this get up to?’

‘Liar, liar, liar,’ said Ben with growing strength.

‘And the man who was murdered?’ Sheila pressed on.
‘I have been wondering, actually. I knew him slightly – we’d been discussing a plan and I met him once or twice. I’ve got to organise a seminar about local businesses. I was hoping to use their conference room in the autumn. He told me there were other people who wanted it that same weekend, and we’d have to try and work something out.’ She frowned. ‘But he was killed before I could get anywhere. It’s been extremely frustrating, I can tell you.’ She looked at Mrs Lillywhite. ‘I did give you the key to this property last weekend. You could have got in, just as this little girl says.’

‘And they’ve kept Ben here since Tuesday,’ said Bonnie, wearily.

‘No!’ Sheila’s voice rose. ‘Why would they do that?’

‘Ask them. They’ve been doing something illegal and Dan found out – that’s my guess. So they murdered him in the woods by the mere, but Ben caught them, so they had to keep him from saying anything, until—’ She stopped. Until what? Were they hoping to get away undetected, and then somehow send an anonymous message to the police, so he could be found before it was too late?

It was surreal, making the worst of all imaginable accusations against two people, who simply stood there with wooden faces.

‘Prostitutes,’ said Ben, just thickly enough for the word to be in doubt.

‘What?’ Bonnie bent over him.

His eyes flickered open. ‘Girls from poor countries. It’s a network. They talked about it. More water,’ he finished, his voice expiring.

She jumped to comply. Nothing else mattered. Ben
would repeat everything he knew once the police had arrested the couple and taken them away. She didn’t have to get everything straight now.

But Sheila had different priorities. ‘What did he just say?’ she demanded, her eyes bulging. She went up to Rosemary Lillywhite, jabbing at her with a thin finger. ‘Have you been trying to drag
me
into this? Was
this
going to be a bawdy house?’ She looked around at the echoing room. ‘In the middle of a lovely place like Hawkshead?’

‘Don’t be idiotic,’ said Mr Lillywhite. ‘Have some sense, woman.’

Ben managed a much better intake of water, swallowing steadily, and letting it do its restorative work. ‘Better,’ he said. Then he flexed his hands. ‘Hurts.’

Bonnie began to wonder how much time had passed, and what was going on outside. The windows only showed roofs and the fells beyond. There were faint voices, but nothing that made her confident that police were there in force, ready to capture the murderers. Despite her determination to take things in the right order, questions were flooding her mind. One stood out. ‘How did you manage to write that date?’ she asked Ben, with a tender smile.

‘Soon as we got here. They didn’t tie me up right away. I knew you’d see it.’ He returned the smile with interest.

‘What?’ said Mr Lillywhite.

Bonnie smirked at him. ‘You kidnapped the cleverest boy in England, you fool. He wrote that, look.’ She pointed at the window, with the mirror-image numerals written in the grime. ‘That’s how I knew he was here. That’s what’s cooked your goose.’

Incomprehension was written on three blank faces.

‘1780. Wordsworth was here then. We’ve been studying him together.’

‘Wordsworth
?’ Sheila spoke first. It was almost possible to believe she had never heard the name before.

‘Poet,’ said Ben. Bonnie laughed, not just because it was very funny, but because her beloved’s improvement was progressing so prodigiously.

Rosemary Lillywhite approached the window, incredulously. She looked through the glass and down, and saw something that evidently maddened her. ‘No-o-o-o!’ she screamed, and snatched up a leather briefcase that her husband had brought with him. She hurled it with full force against the panes, smashing three or four of them.

Sheila retreated to the other side of the room, visibly shaking. Mr Lillywhite appeared to be mainly concerned with his bag, which was balancing half in and half out of the window. He stepped forward and retrieved it, before taking a fragile hold of his wife’s sleeve and pulling at her. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Think of Tom. Get a hold of yourself, woman.’

Tom? Bonnie gave Ben a sideways glance. ‘He’s their son,’ came the answer. ‘He’s involved in all this as well.’ He made an expression of disgust. ‘I thought he was my friend.’

This was altogether new to Bonnie. But before she could ask for further detail, there was a phonecall from Simmy, which she handled with outrageous confidence, and a little while after that there were footsteps on the stairs, and everything was very nearly over.

A man they didn’t know led the way into the room, followed by another stranger and then DI Moxon himself appeared. It was highly disorganised and nothing remotely like any
police raid they’d all seen on television. Simmy rushed to Ben and grabbed him. ‘He didn’t believe me,’ she wept. ‘He said you were safe and sound with Wilf.’

‘Tom,’ said Ben, with a nod. ‘He can do Wilf’s voice.’

Moxon stood in stark perplexity at being the solitary police officer at a scene of such complicated and contradictory crime. ‘Don’t let them go!’ shouted Bonnie – not at Moxon, but the two other men. ‘They’re murderers.’

Their blood up, the men willingly responded. ‘All of them?’ asked the larger one.

‘Not her,’ pointing at Sheila. ‘The others.’

But the Lillywhites showed no resistance. ‘You can’t prove anything,’ said the husband. ‘Not a thing.’

Bonnie’s heart thumped. ‘Is that right?’ she whispered to Ben.

‘Of course not,’ he told her. ‘There’ll be evidence galore all over the place. Did you find my phone?’

She nodded. ‘They’ve looked at all the photos.’

He smiled. ‘Oh good. That’ll be your evidence then. His shoes …’ He spoke to DI Moxon, and at last revived enough to sit up straight. ‘But for a start you can hold them on a charge of abduction and deprivation of freedom. I hereby press charges against them.’

Simmy had said nothing, after her first outburst. Now she said to Bonnie, ‘But how in the world did you find him? That’s what I don’t understand.’

‘Our game,’ was the deeply unsatisfactory answer.