| Call Me Daddy © Xeen PART 4 “Barbara, of course, I will be delighted! I’m leaving for Brighton in the evening, but I will be happy to see you, say, one o’clock? If you don’t mind sharing with me a frugal meal of cucumber sandwiches and roast beef leftovers. I let my people go yesterday, so I cannot offer you a proper hot meal, I’m afraid,” said Lady Asherton. Barbara fanned her map across the passenger seat and rummaged inside the glove compartment to fetch a box of tissues. Her nose had been bothering her since she had hung up the phone, reminiscence of her younger days. Ringing Lynley’s mother had been an on the spur of the moment kind of thing. She had been bracing herself but emotions were running high and her nose had given up on her. Now blood was dripping on her lap, on the map, on the seats of her rental car. She left the hotel, her sleeve pressed to her nose. She would have to find a store along her route; she was already too late to go back to her room and change. Three miles away from Saint Agnes, she spotted a truck in the rear-view mirror, slightly zigzagging and closing fast behind her. When she decided to pull over she was not rapid enough. The truck collided into the side of the car, pushing it violently off the road. She hit hard on the brakes and clutched to the steering-wheel. She felt like a bobble head toy. Before she realised what was going on, she was crushed between airbags, air suddenly expelled out of her lungs. She lost consciousness. -- According to the preliminary plan set by the Met, they had to concentrate on the main leads Havers had been following during the past few days. Standard procedure. Even now that the gang had been arrested and her investigation was over, there was always the risk of an accomplice left behind looking for revenge. Going through the files repeatedly, trying to find a pattern in her investigation. Despite the oversized amount of paper work Havers had generated for the local police benefit, she had kept the case mostly to herself, apart from two very scarce reports to London. For starters, her assigned Cornish colleague was on sick leave from day one. His eventual replacements had not fancied working with a workaholic from the Met. Lynley felt a strong puff of anger. He could translate very easily: the locals prefer to keep the case to themselves, away from London and their female detectives. -- The stench woke her up. She was lying in the dark on a damp ground. Apparently, she had been left inside a vast unknown structure. Nonetheless, she could feel a small breeze of rank air on her legs. The angle was not right and she could not see outside though. Tied at the ankles and the wrists with synthetic ropes, she could not move easily but at least she could; she discovered that it did not hurt her much as long as she didn’t try to free herself. She rolled over to get a better view at the place and her head banged on a sharp edge of metal. She rested still for a while, waiting for the pain to soothe. So much for not being injured, she thought, I’m not going to wound myself now, when the guys from that armoured truck dumped me here without a scratch. Yet, she felt a little ‘hangovered’, probably from the chloroform they used to keep her quiet. She managed to sit up and peered with narrowed eyes to see through the residual smoke. The lack of light and sounds of any kind was very unsettling. An old barn or a derelict building of some sort, she thought. The eluding shapes were difficult to process. She inhaled deeply but a lingering acid smell of manure only made her cough. Her eyes were sore from the reek. She could not conclude between partially burnt decayed corpses of animals or drying swamps with a whiff of scorched trees, maybe elm trees, she thought. Now that she had turned her back to the wall, she could see the outline of the trees against the sky. She closed her eyes, yet breathing heavily. If her captors had decided against gagging her, that was for a sensible reason. Probably not a soul to hear her screams in a one or two mile radius. That means there would mean neither road nor river in the near vicinity. Evans or the local police (or both) might have sent their people to look for her. They must be searching for her right now and they were going to surprise her and be here any minute... or perhaps they had to call off the search parties because of the night. Most likely, she will have to spend the night here and to wait for dawn to make a move. No need to panic: it was early autumn, she was not going to freeze to death during the night. Surely, they have figured out that the paint on her car belonged to an armoured truck, how could they not? Or possibly, the truck was abandoned after the accident and they already found a match with the paint from her rental and caught the guys. She must have been gone less than 5 hours, she pondered. Maybe 8, tops. In the end, going to Howenstow had not turned out to be the bright idea she had believed it would in the first place. -- “There is someone here to see you, sir,” said the local constable. Lynley looked up to see a small ordinary woman in her late twenties, reddish hair, with an oval face. “I have to go, mother,” he said, pointing a finger to the woman and turning his back to her to finish his conversation over the phone. “I thank you for your help. Yes, err... yes, of course, I will let you know right the minute I… the minute we find her… of course mother, bye now…” He put his mobile back in his pocket swiftly and turned back to the constable. “Yes?” he snapped unintentionally. “There is someone here to see you, sir,” she said again, turning as red as her hair. Her superiors told her that Lynley was a Lord she was not sure of the proper attitude. “Let him in,” said Lynley with a smile. He could not let his anguish be in the way. “Thank you, constable.” She smiled back and left. “Sorry sir, but I think that I should have talked to you sooner,” said the man. Medium height, 60ish, patched clothes. “Is that so?” said Lynley gesturing towards the man. “Please, have a sit, mister...” “The name is Barstow, sir, John Barstow. My farm is right across them depot. You must know of that armoured truck which was stolen this morning, don’t you?” “I most certainly do.” “Errr... I sorta think I know who dunnit.” “Rampage DS Havers’ car?” “I don’t know nothing ‘bout the car, sir. I came forward on account of the truck only. They told me I should talk to you,” he shrugged. “You know… who’s done it, then, stole the truck?” “Maybe,” said the man cryptically. “Either you do or you don’t,” said Lynley flatly, leaning towards the man over the desk, fighting a rush of anger. “If you ask me, I would say it was the Terndell boys.” Lynley relaxed against the back of his chair. “The mother used to work for the company as a clerk a couple of years ago. They had to let her go. There had been arson attacks on the warehouse, see,” he grimaced and went for air. “All scum, like father, like sons. I saw them three at the depot, ‘round fivish or so, hardly day. Plastered and prolly high on glue as well, see?” He paused and took a deep breath again. “Then, they went out of my sight for say half an hour. I was going out to the village for me smokes, and then I saw the truck going from one side of the road to the other, right behind me, see. They nearly rolled me over. They were heading to Saint Agnes. Well, that’s it. Hope that helps, they told me there was a reward…” “What can you tell me about the father, mister Barstow?” “He was in jail for some time. When he went back, his wife had divorced him and left with the daughter. Wouldn’t know where, though, it’s been a while.” “You mean she left the boys by themselves?” “No, no! Of course not! There was the uncle. A drunk. Living on the dole and some smuggling. Nothing big, just to pay for the liquor, see.” “Where can I find him?” “At the cemetery in Saint Agnes. He died 3 years ago.” Lynley was getting impatient. “And the father?” “Works at the gas station. Most days, morning only though. Stays at the pub in the afternoon, when he’s not at the tracks.” “Have you seen him recently?” “Let me think… On Sunday, he said to Mike he needed to move some possession real fast.” “Mike?” “Me son-in-law. Not smart but works hard, Mike, if you ask me.” “And?” “Mike asked me for me truck then but I said no. I knew it was Terndell’s idea. Overheard at the pub, see. Won’t let a scum like Terndell touch me truck!” “Have you seen Terndell anywhere near the armoured truck today, mister Barstow?” “Can’t say I have. But them kids left it at the gas station, for sure. And Terndell was not at the pub today.” “But you never saw Terndell drive the truck, only his sons?” “Hey! I'm just looking to help: never said I saw nobody driving the truck. But they might have, see. Now, what about the reward, sir?” -- She had been dozing on and off for the best part of the day. The breeze went stronger and eventually drove away the smoke. She suddenly felt more comfortable, warmer. She opened her eyes. From outside of the barn, a flaming blaze blinded her. She tried to stand up but her legs had gone numb. She clenched her fists and pulled at the rope only to realise she could have got rid of the restraints easily. She worked on freeing her hands first. The men had proven to be more careful with the ropes on her ankles. It took her a good ten minutes to be on her feet. She secured the rope around her waist with two loose knots then checked her pockets. Her ID was gone, so were her phone and wallet. She only found a blooded tissue she discarded impatiently. Burnt fumes now covered the pungent smell of rotten hay. The haze had obscured the view; suspended particles were saturating the air. She pressed her coat to her mouth and nose and gulped avidly only to choke because of smoke and heat. The evening winds must have revived a bonfire and spread it through the land; there was no way she was going to get out of this alive, she thought. She took refuge towards the farthest part from the front of the building in a desperate attempt to find another way out. -- At 6 pm, Lynley decided to take a break from the local police. He took his files and headed back to his hotel room. A small German roadster stopped, tyres screeching in the alley in front of the police station. The tall Jack Buchanan sprang out and in a few strides was to Lynley’s side. He shook hand with him vigorously. “I thought you could use some back up, Lynley,” he smiled. “Do you mind if I tag along? I heard you know the place…” He gave the place a circular look and combed his hair with both hands, stretching his body and embracing the village at the same time. “I drove all the way here from London, can you believe that? Honestly, almost forgot the driving on the left of the road part at some point. Anyway, I’m well and alive and I intend to help you find Barb well and alive too. Anything new since we talked on the phone?” he asked, slamming the car door shut. “No one knows anything, I bet? Small towns, big secrets. Same thing on our side of the pond.” He pressed the key and the car blinked and beeped. “I agree. Something came up this afternoon, though, a man who gave me the name of some likely perpetrators, but I’m afraid we won’t go very far with this. Three brothers, 14 to 17, drunk and possibly high on toluene. They have been locked up after a brawl in a pub around midday. They confessed they stole the armoured truck. They didn’t even bother to conceal it and we found their prints all over anyway. Ultimately, they abandoned the truck at a gas station half a mile away later to steal a sedan. We retrieved it on a car park near the pub. No finger prints from Havers in the sedan. We are searching for DNA but it is going to take some time.” “Time we don’t have,” added Buchanan. “And in and out the truck? No prints but theirs?” “Lots of them on the contrary,” confirmed Lynley. “Five sets we can already trace back to the teams who operate the rotation of the armoured truck. Some extras which belong to the owner and you can throw in the mix a few partials from unknown origin. As for Havers, she had a rental car. We are not finished matching prints from the sweep with our files.” “So we don’t know who burrowed the brinks after the boys left it at the gas station?” asked Buchanan. “Why would they bother to steal a truck to leave it in the open only five minutes later?” “We found Havers’ ID and some of her personal things in the truck, so we can place her there at some point. And the father works at the gas station. We’re looking for him at the moment.” “You don’t have anything conclusive yet?” Lynley went so pale, Buchanan wished he had never asked in the first place. “No. Whoever took the truck is our prime suspect. It could be the father…” “OK, your Lordship, it’s time to get our act together then. But first thing first. I have to fuel the engine. Could you point me to your hotel? I could use a shower and some food!” -- “I’m starving!” declared Buchanan, sacking down at a table near a bow window in the empty hotel dining room. “It’s only 7 but I haven’t realised I was so low on carbs… So, what is on the menu…?” Lynley nodded absently, aware that the American was attempting to cheer him up, aware he might be a living display of total devastation. He was lost in his track of thoughts, trying to make sense of bits and pieces that would not match. Havers had been gone for almost 8 hours now. He knew all too perfectly that the first 24 hours were crucial to finding her; and he could not find even a single valid clue. He was not ready to lose heart though. There had been no ransom demands, no threats. He had spoken to his mother and she had confirmed that Havers was in for a surprise. They had found some photographs in her car that confirmed her intentions. “We’ll have two drafts and your special,” Buchanan said loudly. “No, please, I will have a bottle of Merlot and your soup of the day…” Lynley pondered, “and a side course of peas and mash.” “I didn’t realised you were a veggie.” “I’m not. I’m not hungry that’s all.” “Worried?” “Err…” “Man! You can say you’re worried! If it was my partner missing, I would be worried sick. I wouldn’t let the locals sleep or eat until she’s back. We will find her,” he added with a large smile when the waitress sat his beer on the table. “Keep them coming, love, the night is young,” he winked. She must like Buchanan a lot. From what I gather, they shared more in five months than we have in six years, Lynley thought with envy. “I’m more than worried, Jack, I’m afraid I’ve lost her,” he said, his face expressionless but his knuckles white on his glass of wine. He sipped quietly, eyes locked on the American’s. “She wanted to show my mother some photographs from New York,” he said, reaching out for something in his pocket. He shoved a bunch of photos on the table. “And some others…” Apart from the four or five typical tourist photos taken in New York on which she was smiling in front of the precinct or the entrance to the top of the statue of Liberty, or the ones with Jack in Central Park and on the ferry to Long Island, they were all Tommy’s and Barbara’s: working together on various cases in the field or at the Met and quite a few taken in a cosy cottage, Buchanan suspected to be Lynley’s family home in Howenstow. He took a good look at them, his face an open book. Well, Barb intended to show or give the photographs to Lady Asherton, Buchanan thought. No doubt she was up to something. He was just surprised she had not taken the time to tell him what. TBC Part 5 |
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