Truth Will Out (13 page)

And face another day
, thought Biddy, and wondered what news that would bring. Nothing good, she thought unhappily and sighed deeply. She was beginning to doubt that there would be a happy resolution to their troubles.

SIX

I
t was almost four o’clock the next morning when the call finally came. DC Fleet held up a warning finger and then beckoned Maude outside to the telephone, which was in the hall on the reception desk. Maude had decided against retiring to her room. Knowing she was hardly likely to sleep in the circumstances, she had dozed on and off in an armchair in the lounge. The detective had sat opposite her, lost in thought as he studied his notes.

Maude’s hand shook as she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. ‘Yes. Who is this?’

‘Mrs Brent?’

‘Yes.’ She frowned. The voice was tinny, unlike a real voice, she thought, but the words were clear enough.

‘The money must be in used notes. Place it in a carpet bag or similar—’

‘Used notes in a carpet bag. Yes . . . Whoever you are, I want to speak to my husband. I want to hear his voice. How do I know you have my husband? You could be anybody.’

As though she had not spoken, the tinny voice continued. ‘At ten minutes after two tomorrow night leave the bag tied to the hand rail at the entrance to the pier – left-hand side—’

‘Ten past two tomorrow on the hand rail, entrance to the pier, on the left,’ she repeated. ‘Now may I speak to my husband? Please!’ She tried to keep the desperation from her voice but already tears were pressing against her eyes and her lashes were wet.

At last she heard his voice. He sounded strained but the words were clear enough. ‘Maude, do what he says!’

‘Oh God! It’s you, Lionel!’ She turned to DC Fleet. ‘It’s him. I know his voice. He’s still alive! Oh God! Thank you!’

The tinny voice resumed. ‘Satisfied?’

‘Yes!’ she cried between sobs.

‘Now I must speak to the policeman.’

She stared at the receiver in surprise. How did he know DC Fleet was with her?

As if reading her thoughts the kidnapper said, ‘Credit me with some sense, Mrs Brent. The affair is plastered all over the
Hastings Gazette
. Of course the police are involved.’

Wordlessly, Maude handed the receiver to the detective. As he listened carefully Maude tried to pull herself together. She told herself that Lionel was alive and before too long they might, God willing, be reunited. The end was in sight.

DC Fleet said, ‘But when will we see Lionel Brent? Will he be . . . No! That’s most unsatisfactory. If the money is delivered . . . Forged money? Certainly not. Mrs Brent is determined to give you the full amount and . . . No! First we have to know when and how Mr Brent will be returned. That’s not open for discussion . . . Hello? Hello . . . Damnation!’ DC Fleet replaced the receiver. ‘He’s hung up.
You
have to deliver it,’ he told Maude. ‘You have to take a taxi to the pier, fasten the bag to the railings, walk back and get into the taxi and be driven away. If anyone is with you the kidnapper won’t collect the money.’

‘And Lionel?’ She almost held her breath.

‘You’ll never see him again. But that’s simply a threat, Mrs Brent. To frighten you into complying.’

‘They’ve succeeded, DC Fleet. I’m very frightened indeed.’ Maude put a hand to her heart, which was beating painfully fast. ‘You must allow me to collect the money and deliver it as instructed. I’ve spoken to the bank manager. It’s all arranged. I know you don’t want me to hand it over but you don’t understand how I feel. How can you? I
have
to have Lionel back or my life as I know it is over. He means everything to me. Please don’t fight me on this.’

His expression was unhappy in the extreme. ‘The kidnapper won’t say how or when your husband will be released, Mrs Brent. I find that extremely worrying. That’s why I—’

‘But he’s alive! I heard his voice. There were times when I thought . . . when I suspected that he was already dead. But I spoke to him. It was Lionel!’

‘It’s suspicious. You have to understand, Mrs Brent. He might take the money and kill your husband anyway. Such things are not unknown, believe me. He could make utter fools of us. Will you at least think—?’

Maude interrupted him. ‘Forgive me but I don’t want to discuss it, DC Fleet. I just have to hope. I can’t go on like this. I simply want us to bring things to a close. I want my husband and my well-ordered life back.’

He shrugged. ‘My superiors won’t like it but it’s up to you. If you do insist on going through with it I would ask you not to raise your hopes too high. I’ll be delighted if all goes smoothly but please be prepared for possible . . . disappointment.’

Maude, however, was determined not to be discouraged. ‘I have a good feeling about it,’ she told him. ‘Hearing his voice . . . It’s going to be all right.’

‘How did he sound? Distraught? Angry? Frightened?’

She thought about it. ‘None of those – but then he’s not the type to panic. Tired maybe. I would say he’s facing up to the ordeal very well. He’s a strong personality. He’ll come through.’

Unconvinced, DC Fleet announced that he would go back to the police station to consult with his immediate superior. ‘Detective Inspector Merrit won’t be too pleased about your decision but we’ll have a look at the site and see if we can place some of our people in and around – incognito, of course. We might be able to follow the taxi . . .’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘We’ll do our best, Mrs Brent. Everything in our power, in fact.’

‘I have faith in you, DC Fleet.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t wait for tomorrow night.’

Friday morning surgery started at nine o’clock and Biddy was there in good time. She hated to sit among too many other patients in case she caught something from one of them. She had chosen a seat in the corner and anyone who ventured near was rewarded with an unflinching glare that persuaded them to sit elsewhere. Biddy was the second person to be called and she settled herself nervously on the upright chair as the doctor glanced at her file.

‘What can I do for you, Miss Cope?’ he asked. ‘I don’t see you very often.’ Doctor Courtney was a small bespectacled man who, in Biddy’s infrequent meetings, came across as calm and reliable to the point of blandness. His expression of friendly interest rarely wavered. Now he regarded her with slightly raised eyebrows as she tried to recall the speech she had prepared. As she struggled for her opening line, he waited patiently.

At last she said, ‘I’m sixty-nine, Doctor Courtney. Would you expect me to be . . . a little forgetful?’

‘It would be fairly normal. Yes.’

‘What about sleepwalking?’

He hesitated. ‘Not as a new phenomenon. If you have done this before then not surprising.’

‘I’ve never done it. Not to my knowledge.’

He nodded.

Biddy swallowed. ‘Suppose I . . . I started to imagine things . . . things that weren’t there?’ She clasped and unclasped her hands.

He gave a little shrug. ‘Imagining things? That might worry you a little but it would depend on the circumstances.’

‘What would they be – the circumstances?’

He rolled his eyes thoughtfully. ‘In times of great stress the mind can play tricks. It could well be a temporary aberration. Nothing to suggest a serious problem.’ He sat back and steepled his fingers. ‘I’m sixty-five, Miss Cope. I forget things. I don’t think I sleepwalk but since my wife died I wouldn’t really know. Who would tell me?’ He smiled. ‘I might wander back to bed and know nothing about it in the morning.’

Biddy took a deep breath. ‘Last night I clearly saw a man in our garden. I
saw
him, Doctor Courtney. It wasn’t a vision or . . . or a mirage. It certainly wasn’t a ghost. An odd-looking man in a long coat with a big wide hat. But . . . Alice Crewe was with me and she saw nothing. Nothing at all! How could that be unless . . . Was it a hallucination, Doctor Courtney?’ She closed her eyes. ‘I’m afraid . . . that is, I think I may be . . . losing my mind!’

‘Ah! I see your problem, Miss Cope, but let me try and set your mind at ease. A hallucination is most unlikely but the moon throws strange shadows. Did this strange man speak?’

‘No. Or if he did I didn’t hear him.’

‘Do you know anyone who might wear an outfit like the one you’ve described? To me it sounds rather like a poacher. Do you know any poachers who might sneak through your garden?’

‘A poacher? Certainly not!’

‘Is it possible?’

‘Anything’s possible, I suppose, but . . .’ She fell silent. She had come for a straight answer but was obviously not going to get one – which meant that she would not go home reassured, but neither would she feel confident to pass on what she had seen to the police for fear they laughed at her.

The doctor studied her thoughtfully. ‘I know the problems you have at the moment – the kidnapping. It was in the paper, of course, but there are always rumours. All extremely upsetting for you. I speak for the whole village when I say we sympathize with you all. Poor Mrs Brent! My heart bleeds for her.’

‘Then you don’t think I . . .’

‘You and Miss Crewe must be under a great deal of pressure, Miss Cope, and that is affecting you. Your mind is playing tricks, perhaps, but I suggest that is a temporary problem and that as soon as the police have solved the crime, you will once again be restored to your normal cheerful self.’

Biddy found this bland assessment irritating. ‘But I can’t sleep, Doctor Courtney, and I can’t think straight. I–I made a Christmas pudding a few days ago. Miss Crewe thought I was quite mad!’

‘Forgive me, Miss Cope, but Miss Crewe is not a doctor and doesn’t understand the workings of the mind. Can you tell me today’s date?’

‘The date? It’s the sixteenth.’

‘And is Queen Victoria on the throne?’

‘No. She died a long time ago.’

He smiled faintly. ‘There you are then. I rest my case. If you failed to answer either question correctly I would worry about you. But you didn’t fail!’

She opened her mouth to add something but he held up his hand to silence her. ‘I am going to give you a sedative. Not only to help you sleep at night but to calm your nerves and help you through the next few days. A few spoonfuls of medicine, Miss Cope, and I guarantee you will see no more strange men.’

Around the same time Maude sat down opposite the bank manager with a comparatively light heart. The end was near. She told herself so at intervals and was beginning to believe it. All she had to do was deliver the money and Lionel would be released and they would go back to
Fairways
together. Time would pass and they would forget all about it.

She smiled at Mr Franks. She had always liked him. He had managed their affairs for as long as she could remember and must be due to retire soon.

He greeted her rather nervously, she thought, but grasped his plump outstretched hand as warmly as usual.

‘So sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs Brent.’

‘I’ve only been here a few minutes.’

He lowered himself into his chair, avoiding her gaze.

Maude felt the first frisson of doubt as she watched him assemble the papers he had brought with him. She said, ‘It should soon be over, Mr Franks, with your help. As I told you on the telephone . . .’

He glanced up unhappily. ‘I shall do all I can, of course, but I have to be guided by Head Office. I have explained exactly what we need – a loan – but they are still deliberating.’

‘Deliberating?’ It was little more than a whisper.

‘Considering how best to deal with the . . . the difficulties. It is a most unusual request, Mrs Brent, and we do have a responsibility to our shareholders . . .’

‘I am one of them!’

‘Ah! Yes, you are indeed but . . . these things take time, Mrs Brent. A thousand pounds is a very large sum and one you do not have in your account.’

‘But you know we are able to afford the ransom. You know I have my father’s pictures, which are possibly worth twice that amount. We are not paupers, Mr Franks! We have goods to a value far above the loan I am asking for. I don’t have to tell you that. You have the file in front of you. Look at it!’

To her dismay he shook his head. ‘It’s not as simple as you imagine, Mrs Brent. We also owe a duty of care to you, as one of our clients, to give you sound advice and, in this instance, Head Office feels that we should all step back and take a deep breath before we rush into something we might—’

‘I shan’t regret it, Mr Franks, if that’s what you’re implying. I want my husband home safe and well. I can’t begin to imagine what he is going through with his life hanging by a thread. He is relying on me and the police and you, Mr Franks, to save his life. Who is this nameless man at Head Office? Let me speak to him. I’ll tell him what I think about a man in his position who dithers at a time like this!’ Breathless, she pressed a hand to her heart. ‘I wonder just how different his reply would be if his
wife had been kidnapped! Very different, Mr Franks, and you know it.’ She glared at him, her chest heaving with anger.

‘Really, Mrs Brent, you must calm yourself!’ he begged, taken aback by her uncharacteristic attack. ‘We only have your best interests at heart. The police believe, they have told me, they fear it will not be the last payment you have to make. They also think you should delay the—’

‘Oh, I see it now! You’ve been in touch with the police behind my back! That’s despicable, Mr Franks! What happened to client confidentiality? You have betrayed me!’ She leaned across the desk, stabbing her finger at him so violently that he drew back in his chair in alarm.

‘Mrs Brent! You are beside yourself!’ he gasped.

‘And you are the reason, Mr Franks, for my anger. You and Head Office are driving me to the point of hysteria! Every minute wasted is a minute nearer to my husband’s death!’ She flung herself back in the chair, almost choking with fear and anger. She took several deep breaths in an attempt to compose herself. This, she told herself, was not the way to win them over. Tears might have been the best option but she was far from tearful. She steadied her voice with an effort. ‘Please allow me to speak directly to someone at Head Office.’