The Vanishing Point (33 page)

5

P
addington Basin to Luton Airport at the crack of dawn; a surprising amount of traffic on the road, but no hold-ups, no anxious panic because of an inexplicable clot of standing traffic. Airport shops; a lightweight daypack, a water bottle, a waterproof jacket, a pair of trainers and some socks. Luton to Cluj; three hours of dozing uncomfortably above the clouds, not talking about what was on their minds in case anyone overheard. Finally, the hire car – a make and model neither of them had ever heard of – a Google map print-out and they were on the final leg of the journey Stephanie prayed would bring Jimmy back to her.

They’d spent the previous afternoon and evening formulating plans, discarding them, reforming them, refining them and finally coming up with a tentative course of action that they both knew would have to be infinitely flexible. The important thing was that they were clear about their primary objective – they were there to locate Jimmy. Everything else depended on that.

And, because Nick maintained it never hurt to go belt and braces, they’d sent another text to Leanne’s phone. ‘Totally understand, I know how fond of Jimmy you were. Maybe I could come on my own? Get my nails done for old times’ sake? Sx’ Nick had read it and nodded. ‘I bet you don’t get a reply at all this time.’

Once they were clear of the airport and sure they were headed in the right direction – south-west into the mountains – they pulled off at the first petrol station, a low brick building that looked like a refugee from the 1950s, its modern pumps wildly out of time. Nick went into the kiosk and returned with bottled water, chocolate, two packs of sliced salami and a packet of plain biscuits. While he was inside, Stephanie put on the socks and trainers. Phase one of their plan was to find the orphanage then walk past as if they were hikers. The drawback to this plan was that the only clothes Stephanie had with her were the ones she’d packed for a Californian holiday. Strappy sundresses and shorts were fine for Disneyland and the beach but not very appropriate for walking in the Transylvanian mountains, even on a fine spring day like this. Hence the airport shopping. With her one pair of jeans and an old plaid shirt of Nick’s, she looked almost credible.

As they climbed higher, the air coming through the vents grew a little cooler. The landscape changed from lush green rolling hills dotted with rangy sheep to wooded slopes punctured with rocky outcrops. It was easy to see how Bram Stoker conjured Dracula against this dramatic and mostly empty backdrop. Occasionally they passed through villages that barely earned the title – a few houses clinging to a hill, or a clutch of cottages occupying a small plateau – but there was nothing to tempt them to pause in their journey.

After an hour and a half of driving up twisting narrow roads, Stephanie realised they must be closing in on Timonescu. Her stomach felt simultaneously tight and fluttery. ‘Take me through the plan again,’ she said. ‘This is not the kind of thing I do. I’m not a woman of action. Not like you.’

Nick grinned. ‘I’m not a woman of action either.’

She gave his upper arm a playful punch. ‘Nobody loves a smartarse. You know what I mean.’

‘It’s simple. We’re going to drive past the orphanage, but not so slowly that we attract attention. We’ll carry on a bit further and find somewhere discreet to leave the car. Then we’ll put on our backpacks and walk back past the orphanage, scouting as we go for vantage points where we can watch the place.’

‘And then we sit tight?’

‘That’s right. Till Simon or Marina or both of them emerge. Then we try to follow them. And see where that takes us.’

‘It’s not exactly watertight, is it?’ Stephanie tried not to show how nervous she felt about Nick’s plan. The truth was that what had seemed like a brilliant idea in the security of his flat was scarier than sitting in an interrogation room with Vivian McKuras. Much scarier.

‘We have to be flexible. We’ll stay in touch on our phones. At least on these roads they won’t get much of a head start. And it’s not like there are a lot of side roads to turn off on.’

Stephanie breathed deeply. ‘And if we manage to follow Simon and we find Jimmy with him and Marina, what do we do then?’ When she’d asked this before, Nick had been evasive, saying they’d cross that bridge when they got to it. Well, as far as she was concerned, they were on the approach road to the bridge now.

‘We assess the situation and decide the best way to make sure we walk out of there with Jimmy,’ Nick said.

‘Can’t we just call the police and tell them?’

Nick negotiated a hairpin bend with a twist of the wrists, then nearly ended up in a ditch avoiding a horse-drawn cart coming down the hill in the opposite direction. ‘I don’t trust the local law enforcement. The TOmorrow trust is funnelling a lot of money into the local economy. They’re going to have more clout than a Scotland Yard detective walking in on their patch without any kind of agreement. Even if it only takes a few hours to sort things out, Simon and Marina could take off with Jimmy and be on their way to anywhere in central Europe. We’ve got to do it ourselves. We’ve got to physically remove Jimmy and get him away from there.’

‘Then what do we do? I don’t have his passport, and if the locals are in Marina’s pocket, how can we possibly get away on these roads?’

‘We do what they don’t expect. They’ll expect us to head for the airport. But I say we head on over the mountains and down the other side to Bucharest. We’ll take Jimmy to the British Embassy and they can sort out an emergency passport. We’re the guys in the white hats here, after all. We are the rescue mission.’

Stephanie was not reassured. ‘You think they’ll hand Jimmy over? Just like that?’

‘No. I think we’ll have to make some unpleasant noises. Simon’s the weak link, though. He’s a doctor. If he ever wants to practise anywhere again, he can’t afford to have an international warrant for his arrest floating around out there. As far as I can tell, he’s a nice middle-class boy with no experience of being on the wrong side of the law. He’s the one who will cave, trust me.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You’ve never seen my dark side, Stephanie. But don’t forget, I’m the one who kicked Pete Matthews into touch for you. I can do this. I can get Simon to see how much better off he will be if he hands Jimmy over in exchange for no legal pursuit.’

‘You’d do that? You’d let them get away with it?’

Nick’s jaw tightened. ‘It goes against all my instincts, but yes. I’d do it to get the kid back. I’d do it for Jimmy’s sake. The kid needs stability and familiarity, not to be transplanted to a foreign country and given a foreign identity. Because they’ll have to do that. They can’t risk Jimmy Higgins reappearing. He’ll be given the identity of some Romanian orphan. So yes, I’d do it for the kid. And for you.’

‘And what if Marina won’t play? What if Simon goes along with you and she says no?’

‘Then it’ll be three to one.’ His mouth clamped shut. Stephanie realised she was going to get nothing more out of Nick on this subject. He didn’t want to rehearse with her a situation he was determined to avoid. He peered at the odometer. ‘According to this, we’re only a couple of miles away. Keep a look out for any signs.’

They passed through another hamlet – a cluster of mean houses with steep roofs huddled round what appeared to be an inn – then the forest seemed to grow thicker as they climbed through a series of tight bends. As they rounded the last hairpin they looked across a tumultuous stream that surged along the roadside to a meadow. At the heart of the meadow was a high wall surrounding a grim stone building. Four storeys high, twelve windows per storey, it sat foursquare behind tall iron gates. The cream stucco and the steeply pitched dark roof looked in good repair, but the overall impression was forbidding. There was a large paved area at the end of the driveway where several cars were parked, but the remainder that they could see was covered with grass. Nick slowed down and they passed a bridge over the stream. A large signboard proclaimed Orfelinat Timonescu.

‘Jesus,’ Nick said. ‘It’s big.’

Stephanie looked back and from this perspective she could see the beginnings of a children’s play area that looked well equipped. ‘What if they live in?’ she said. ‘What if Jimmy’s stuck in there with all the other orphans?’

The road swung round in a broad curve. On the right, what appeared to be a logging road split off. Nick turned into it at the last moment and drove round the first bend. He turned the car around and when he finally stopped, they were about fifty yards from the road but out of sight to the casual observer. ‘Why would they want to? If they’ve gone to these lengths to build a new life, I don’t imagine they’re spending their down time in an orphanage,’ he said. ‘Like I said last night, we have to be prepared to be flexible.’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘We have to hope. Somebody has to stand up for Jimmy,’ he said.

Stephanie smiled. ‘You think you can play me like a six-string,’ she said, no sting in her voice. ‘But I can see through you. I know why we’re here, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be apprehensive.’

‘Apprehensive is good. It means you don’t do stupid, heedless gung-ho shit.’ Nick opened the car door and unfolded himself, stretching his arms up to unkink his back. Stephanie joined him and in silence they organised their backpacks. Still without speaking, they set out down the track to the road.

‘There’s a path along the top side of the meadow,’ Stephanie said. ‘I caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye. I think you must get to it via the bridge that leads to the orphanage.’

And so they walked back down the road and crossed the bridge. There was no sign of life from the oppressive building behind the wall, no sound of children playing. It was early afternoon by now, and Stephanie was surprised that everything was so quiet and still.

They soon spotted the narrow path that cut across the meadow to the treeline. It looked exactly like the sort of path two hikers would be attracted to. They paused while Nick pretended to consult the map. ‘Once we get to the trees, we’ll look at the map again and act like we made a mistake. Then we’ll go back the way we came. But as soon as we reach the bend, you slip into the trees and keep an eye on the orphanage. I’ll go back to the car and wait for you to tell me when I need to make a move.’ He slipped off his backpack and took out a pair of binoculars. ‘You’d better have these.’

They walked across the meadow purposefully, continuing along by the trees for a few hundred metres. Suddenly, the sound of children shouting and laughing drifted their way on the light breeze. A little further on, they turned and retraced their steps. There was a gap in the wall of about twenty metres where the stone had been replaced by tall spiked railings. Behind it, they could see children engaged in a typical assortment of childish activities – throwing balls, skipping, chasing games or just mooching around. Some of the children were clearly disabled, but they joined in nevertheless, making the most of the spring sunshine and their freedom. None of them was Jimmy, Stephanie was sure of that. Three women in dark trousers and the kind of white tunics worn by nurses and hospital orderlies sat on a bench, legs crossed, eyes on the children, smoking fiercely and talking animatedly. They paid no attention to Nick and Stephanie, who kept up their brisk pace all the way back to the road. ‘It looks like the kids are having fun,’ Stephanie said. ‘Scarlett did something good. When she first came here, it was like all the horror documentaries after the fall of Ceaușescu. Kids chained to their cots, babies lying in their own filth, disabled children with bedsores weeping pus. Looks like they’ve had a transformation.’

‘That’s another reason to try and sort this out without bringing the police into it. I don’t want to drag Scarlett’s charity through the mud. The media would have a field day with the irony of that – the charity set up by his mother is exploited to hide tragic kidnapped Jimmy,’ Nick said, making the quote mark signs in the air with his fingers.

They walked on and as they rounded the bend, Stephanie slipped in among the trees. Nick kept on walking, leaving her alone among the slender trunks of the conifers. The trouble with this kind of woodland was that there was no undergrowth to use as cover. Nothing grew under the dense canopy of needles. She flitted through the trees then moved closer to the road, where bracken was starting to unfurl among the coarse grass and unfamiliar hedgerow plants. If she sat on the carpet of needles at the edge of the trees, she reckoned it would be hard to spot her. Spreading her waterproof jacket on the ground, Stephanie settled down for what she knew might be a long watch. It was almost four in the afternoon; she had no idea when it would get dark, but she was determined to stick it out.

For Jimmy, it was the least she could do.

6

T
he sun had disappeared behind the wooded summit and with it the warmth of the day. Nick’s plaid shirt was no match for the sharp chill on the breeze that came with the early evening. But if she put on the waterproof jacket in an attempt to keep warm, the damp from the ground would soon seep into Stephanie’s bones, making her even colder than before. It was a conundrum that had no satisfactory answer, but mulling it over kept her mind off what might lie ahead of them.

The front door of the orphanage had opened a couple of times, startling her into sudden attention, the binoculars rammed against her eyes. The first time, a man and a woman emerged in the apparent uniform of dark trousers and white tunic. The man went to one of the cars while the woman jogged down the driveway, undid a padlock and opened the heavy iron gates. The man drove through, then waited for the woman to close and lock the gates again. It was an unwieldy process, but Stephanie liked the time it took. The next departure, about ten minutes later, featured a grey-haired woman in a pink button-through overall, who mounted a motor scooter hidden behind the cars and repeated the performance at the gate.

‘Come on, Simon,’ Stephanie muttered as the scooter grumbled past her up the hill. To relieve the monotony, she called Nick and told him about the people who had left. ‘It takes a while to open and close the gates,’ she reported. ‘So if he does come out, you’ve got a few minutes’ warning.’

‘Are they all going down the hill?’

‘No. One each way.’

‘OK. Then I’ll stay put till you know for sure which way he’s headed.’

There was nothing else to say. Neither of them had any appetite for small talk. Stephanie returned to her vigil, wrapping her arms around her torso to preserve what warmth remained.

And then the door opened again. Even without the binoculars, she recognised Simon. Shirt over his straight-leg jeans, the distinctive walk provoked by his cowboy boots. She could almost believe she heard the clatter of his boot heels on the stone steps. He didn’t close the door behind him and he paused at the foot of the stairs, turning to look back, as if he was calling someone.

When Jimmy came barrelling through the door at full speed, Stephanie stopped breathing. A tightness gripped her chest and her throat closed as if there were a sob trapped within. The boy caught up with Simon, who ruffled his hair as she’d done so many times. They walked hand in hand to a Mercedes saloon and got in. At the gate, Simon went to unfasten the padlock and Stephanie recovered herself enough to stab the button on her phone to call Nick.

‘It’s Simon,’ she blurted out. ‘He’s got Jimmy with him.’

‘Bloody hell.’ She could hear the engine catching as Nick turned the ignition key. ‘Are they heading up or down?’

‘I don’t know yet, Simon’s only just driving through the gate. Hold on . . .’ She watched, the tension in her body growing with every passing minute. Simon drove through the entrance then dawdled over closing the gate. He acted as if he had all the time in the world, which only made her feverish impatience worse. When he finally set the car moving again, the indicator light signalled he was turning left. ‘Down,’ she practically yelled. ‘They’re going down the hill. Come and get me.’

As soon as Simon’s taillights disappeared round the first bend, Stephanie was on her feet, plunging through the narrow strip of hedgerow on to the road. Already she could see Nick’s headlights glimmering through the trees. The day was dimming fast now; at least they would have Simon’s lights ahead of them to make tailing him easier.

Nick’s car rounded the bend and skidded to a halt next to her. She threw herself into the passenger seat, surprised to realise she was panting. Nick grinned and thrust the car into gear. Nervous relief made him crack wise. ‘Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say, “The game’s afoot, Holmes”?’

In spite of herself, she giggled, a hysterical response to his silliness. ‘Just remember, it was Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard who was the real dummy in the Sherlock Holmes stories, Detective Sergeant Nicolaides.’

Nick hurtled round the bends as fast as he dared, catching occasional streaks of scarlet light through the trees ahead. Then at once the red disappeared. They corkscrewed through another couple of bends and suddenly the hamlet was in sight. Stephanie strained to catch a trace of the Mercedes, and suddenly yelped, ‘There, past the inn. The road that goes into the forest. They’re driving down there.’

Nick threw the car into a screaming turn and they shot past the houses and the inn, bucketing from side to side as they went from tarmac to rough track. He tapped the brakes, trying to slow down safely to a manageable speed. ‘Fuck,’ he said, intense and savage as he wrestled with the inadequate car.

Up ahead, the red lights intensified as the Mercedes braked. Then it suddenly turned right. Nick slowed down. ‘It’s a gateway,’ Stephanie yelled. ‘Stop, Nick.’

He turned off the headlights and managed to stop the car fifty metres from the gateway. Switching off the engine and the sidelights took seconds, then they were both out on the track, leaving the car doors open. They ran to the gateway, Nick crouching low and crossing to the far side.

Stephanie peered round a rough stone pillar topped with a bear rearing up on its hind legs. The Mercedes had drawn to a halt in a pool of light about thirty metres away. The light came from floodlights mounted on the front of what looked like a hunting lodge crossed with a castle, complete with stone turrets on each corner. Jimmy and Simon were already out of the car and heading for the front porch, Jimmy skipping ahead.

The door opened and a woman emerged, running down the steps, arms thrown wide to greet the boy. She swept him into her arms, spinning round with him. As Simon joined them, she paused to kiss his mouth. It was the perfect image of a family reunited at the end of the working day.

Only the woman was wrong.