(1995) By Any Name (11 page)

He looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘I need to find out who I am.’

‘Then you really have lost your memory?’

‘Did you ever doubt it?’

‘Yes.’ She took the remains of the French loaf from the box. ‘What do you intend to do with me when you get there?’

He looked her in the eye. ‘You’ll find out – when we get there.’

CHAPTER SIX

Simmonds watched Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham replace the telephone receiver. ‘Have they set up a Cabinet Office briefing room?’

‘An hour ago.’ Heddingham snapped.

‘That’s routine in a case like this,’ Simmonds sympathized.

‘It means they believe we’re incompetent,’

Heddingham pronounced flatly.

‘I defy anyone to have done more.’ The police superintendent took Heddingham’s comments as personal criticism. He’d allowed the army officers to take control of the Command Cell he’d set up in his police station to oversee “Operation West”. He’d remained on duty in the hospital grounds all night, in the hope that West would be found. And now, when he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, the colonel had the brass to tell him that “they” – whoever

“they” were – believed that the situation was being handled badly.

‘We could have done more,’ Heddingham barked.

‘We could have caught the man.’

‘He’s obviously a professional. Your men searched that building from top to bottom yesterday… ’

‘While he was inside, and we missed him,’

Heddingham interrupted.

‘You’re being too hard on yourself, sir,’ Major Simmonds consoled clumsily. ‘No officer could have done more.’

‘If we’d put in more effort, that paramedic might still be alive.’

‘And so might Mr Watson,’ the superintendent murmured. ‘But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in twenty years of policing, it’s you can’t afford to think in terms of what might have been.’

‘Are you going to the Cabinet briefing, sir?’

Simmonds asked.

‘They want me there within the hour.’

Heddingham rubbed his chin. He needed to shave and acquire a clean shirt. Thank God for Simmonds; he was good at organising domestic comforts – if nothing else.

‘I’ll order you a helicopter, sir?’

‘Very good, Simmonds. The minister overseeing this incident wants a full report. I suggest we check the sequence of events, to ensure that we are in agreement about what happened, superintendent.’

‘A joint police/army report sounds like a good idea,’ the superintendent answered.

‘I don’t know about “a good idea”,’ Heddingham said acidly. ‘In the army we call it covering our rear.’

Simmonds went to the bank of telephones that connected directly to the nearest Army HQ, leaving the superintendent and lieutenant-colonel staring glumly at a road map of Britain.

‘He could be anywhere by now,’ Heddingham declared in disgust.

‘As he seems to think like your chaps, it might be a good idea to bring in someone who can analyze information as and when we get it. Someone able to determine whether a pattern’s emerging that could help us forecast his next move.’ He glanced sideways at Heddingham. ‘How about that special forces officer who was in the hospital last night?’

‘He’s back with his unit.’

‘Could you ask for him to be transferred to us?’ the superintendent asked.

The lieutenant-colonel looked to Simmonds, who’d just replaced the receiver. ‘Simmonds will arrange it.’

West opened his eyes and turned on the inside light of the car to read the clock. It was just after eleven. He checked Elizabeth, and saw her eyes were open above the gag he’d retied around her mouth. She made a noise when he opened the car door and stepped outside. His feet squelched into icy mud that oozed over the top of his trainers. It took him a moment to extricate himself from the mire and by the time he finished, both his socks were sodden and filthy as well as the trainers, but there were plenty of clean pairs in the case. He tiptoed through the puddles to the fringe of woodland and relieved himself.

On his return, he discovered Elizabeth sitting upright. He opened the back door and cut through her bonds. She pulled down her gag.

‘It’s all that beer,’ she apologized. She stumbled out of the car door and he followed her.

‘Can’t I do anything in private?’ she complained.

‘I can’t risk losing you.’

‘Damn you, and damn you to hell, John West.’ She stepped behind a tree, but to her chagrin he didn’t return to the car until she did. ‘If I promise not to make a sound will you leave off the gag,’ she begged.

‘Not a chance.’

He trussed her up exactly as he had done before, laid her head on the pillow, her feet on the seat and covered her to the chin with a blanket.

‘Looks like you’ve had practice putting children to bed.’

It was the last thing she said before he pulled the bandage tight around her mouth.

Children! The thought hadn’t occurred to him. Did he have a child? A wife waiting, wondering why he hadn’t come home? If so, why hadn’t she answered the press appeals?

He reversed down the path, into the car park and switched on the car radio. The first thing he had to do was find another car or van; a vehicle that wouldn’t be missed until morning in case the local police had already put out the description of the estate.

He drove down a secondary road to the accompaniment of an unmelodic pop song, covering two miles before he reached a straggle of upmarket houses built around a pub, a church and, further along, a small school. He opened the side window slightly.

The cold wind froze his ear, but he had a long drive ahead and didn’t want to risk falling asleep at the wheel. He continued north, by-passing the signs for the motorway, not wanting to run the risk of being picked up on CCTV while still in the stolen estate car.

He found what he was looking for shortly after midnight. It was another estate car; newer, flashier. It was parked at the head of a long straight drive to a house set back from the road, with no other house in sight. He slowed his speed. Shutting down his engine, he parked a couple of hundred yards up the road. He climbed out of the driving seat, leaving the door slightly ajar. Moving in the shadows, he stole back along the road and up the drive. The only noise he could hear was the rain splashing into the gutters. His luck was holding, if there’d been a dog around it would have barked by now.

Any complacency he felt disappeared when he examined the vehicle’s alarm. It was the most complicated he’d encountered so far. It took him ten minutes to disarm the system, and he was tempted to give up half-way when he nearly triggered the mechanism. Once he had rendered it harmless, he opened the door and climbed behind the wheel.

Releasing the handbrake he allowed the car to roll down the drive and on to the road. He climbed out and pushed it twenty yards further before starting the engine, and parking it behind the other vehicle.

He exchanged number plates again; keeping the number he’d stolen in Brighton. He transferred the blankets and pillow, Elizabeth, the suitcases and finally a selection of food and drink. Closing the tailgate, he checked the discarded vehicle carefully, to ensure he’d left no evidence of his presence. It was then he spotted a lump beneath the rubber mat on the passenger side. He peeled it back and found a wallet stuffed with credit cards and a hundred and fifty pounds in cash. He left the credit cards, but pocketed the banknotes. Fortunately for him, some people were complete idiots.

An hour later he was driving west along the M4, trying to keep awake by singing along to a song from the soundtrack of a film he had a vague recollection of watching. He tried to recall details of the plot. There’d been a girl and a man… and there was a lot of quarrelling and shouting, but then that was most films these days. Wasn’t it?

Just before he reached the motorway services at the Severn Bridge he looked down at the fuel gauge.

In his eagerness to find another vehicle he’d forgotten to check the tank. The needle was pressing against empty. He debated whether to risk buying petrol, or exchange cars yet again. Stealing another car would take precious time. He wanted to reach Brecon before the morning rush-hour. Preferably when the streets were still dark, and he could walk around without risking being seen by someone who might recognize him and ask awkward questions.

Glancing into the rear-view mirror he saw that Elizabeth had fallen asleep again. He envied her.

Perhaps there’d be a car parked in the services he could siphon petrol out of, but even if there was, he had no tube – but he did have money.

He filled the tank until the pump cut out, then covered Elizabeth with the blanket before driving to the cashier’s booth. The middle-aged woman in the kiosk barely glanced at him as he handed over a third of his precious supply of cash. Without any prompting, she also gave him the coins he’d need for the bridge toll in his change.

He plotted a route when he rejoined the motorway.

If he could remember street names in Brecon, then he should be able to remember the main roads leading into the town. The lights of the toll booths flashed ahead, and he opted for an automatic coin bin.

Tossing his money into the wire basket he pressed the accelerator. Wind buffeted the car as he crossed the Severn Bridge. Wales lay ahead – and Brecon.

He was pinning all his hopes on discovering his identity there. What if nothing happened? What if he only recognized the streets he had already identified?

He dismissed the thought. Something would be familiar; he had to believe that much. And, for now at least, no one was following him.

‘Captain Chaloner. I’ve been told to report to Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham.’

Simmonds heard the young officer announce himself and looked up at the door of the Command Cell. Chaloner appeared to be fit and hard, he also had that other attribute Simmonds had often seen in Special Forces personnel; an ability to blend inconspicuously into the background, exciting little interest or notice. Few others in the room, civilians or police, had turned to look at the young captain.

‘I’m Simmonds, Peter Simmonds. We met yesterday.’ He crossed the room and held out his hand. The captain shook it. ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Heddingham has been called away.’

Ross Chaloner’s eyes flickered as though he knew precisely where and why the lieutenant-colonel had been summoned.

‘You’ve been briefed.’ Simmonds asked.

‘An hour ago, I was hoping there’d been more developments since.’

‘Is this the man we’ve been waiting for, Major?’

Police Inspector Barnes, with Sergeant Pickett close behind, joined the officers.

‘Captain Ross Chaloner – Inspector Barnes, Sergeant Pickett.’

‘Shall we continue our conversation in the Superintendent’s office, gentlemen?’ Simmonds led the way into a small secondary office furnished with two desks, a battery of telephones and a wall-board covered with a large scale map of England and Wales.

Red plastic pins had been fixed in the map to indicate the location of the local hospital and the hospital on the south coast where the ambulance West had hijacked had been found.

‘Have there been any sightings since Brighton?’

Chaloner asked.

‘None,’ Barnes answered.

‘But we know the make and model of the car stolen from the hospital grounds around the time West was there,’ Pickett chipped in.

‘Did West force the ambulance driver to take him to Brighton, or did he drive there himself?’ Chaloner looked inquiringly from Simmonds to the police officers.

‘The results of the post mortem have come in.

Apparently the driver’s breakfast was fully digested, which suggests he was alive when they reached Brighton,’ Barnes informed him. ‘Forensic are certain he wasn’t moved after he was killed.’

‘So, our man drove to Brighton with the paramedic, shot him in the back of his ambulance in the car park, stole another vehicle… ’

‘Probably,’ Barnes concurred. ‘There are no witnesses, and nothing on the security cameras to confirm that it was our man who took that car. Ten cars a week disappear from that hospital. It could have been a joyrider.’

‘And it could have been him. There’ve been no sightings of that car since?’

‘None.’

‘Then we’re down to what we know about him.’

Chaloner sat behind the larger of the two desks and propped his feet up on the corner.

‘West claimed to have been suffering from amnesia,’ Simmonds reminded him.

‘Do you have any reason to think he was faking?’

‘Other than it’s an easy condition to fake – no,’

Simmonds conceded.

‘We have no missing personnel, West’s fingerprints aren’t on record, and he evaded our search-and-detain parties in the hospital like a professional,’ Chaloner picked up a pen and stared at it. ‘Do we know if he still has a hostage?’

‘There’ve been no sighting of Dr Santer and we haven’t found a body,’ Barnes answered.

‘There’s been no contact?’ Chaloner glanced at the array of telephones. ‘No ransom demands?’

‘No.’ Barnes agreed.

‘He made no mention of a name – a place – when he was in the hospital?’

The superintendent walked into the office. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ He turned to Major Simmonds.

‘Didn’t you interview him?’

‘Briefly, he confirmed our suspicions regarding his military knowledge, nothing more.’

‘In that case, gentlemen,’ Chaloner tilted the leather chair to a more amenable angle and moved his feet to a more secure position on the desk, ‘we have no option but to sit here and wait for a sighting. And, while we wait, we may as well make ourselves comfortable. Do you think we could send out for some food? I, for one, am starving.’

When the Severn Bridge was ten miles behind them, West reached back and pulled away the blanket covering Elizabeth’s face. Flicking through the channels on the radio, he stopped when he heard a voice. He glanced at the clock. There would be a news broadcast on the hour.

He continued to drive steadily as if on auto-pilot, rarely allowing his speed to exceed sixty or drop below fifty. At four o’clock when the sky seemed at its darkest a short burst of discordant music prefaced the news. He dropped his speed to forty and listened intently.