Ann Purser - Threats At Three

“Most of us think it should be cancelled,” Josie said. “You couldn’t put your heart into it, could you?”

“Not long to go,” Father Rodney said. “But I’m sure we’ll have good news before then.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Lois said. “So glad you’re sure.”

After he had gone, Josie turned on her mother. “You were a bit sharp! Poor bloke’s only doing his job. And anyway, maybe he’s right. I reckon a miracle would be just what we need at the moment.”

Lois was suitably chastened, and said that probably the most useful thing was that Kate Adstone was still with Paula Hickson, and in her opinion that was worth more than a fistful of prayers.

THE VAN STOPPED AT LAST, AND JACK JR. BLINKED AT THE LIGHT as the man opened the doors at the back.

“Get out,” he said.

“Where are we?”

“Never you mind, just get out!”

“I’ve got cramp. Can’t move.”

The man advanced on him. He took him by one ear and dragged him out of the van and on to a rutted track. “Cramp all gone?” he said, and laughed. “You don’t fool me, little Jack Horner! Good at deceiving yer teachers and your mum, aren’t you? But I know you from way back. Lying little toad then and still are. Now, get going. We’ve got a long way to go.”

KATE ADSTONE FINALLY LEFT PAULA AND HURRIED TO THE PLAYGROUP to collect Cecilia. Like every other mother in the village, she couldn’t feel at ease until her toddler was safely cuddled in her arms. There were still police patrolling, knocking on doors and stopping people in the street. It occurred to Kate that even if the kidnapper had thoughts of returning Jack, he, or she, was unlikely to bring him back with this lot all around. More likely the boy would be dumped. Alive, Kate wished fervently.

She had been surprised by how much Paula Hickson had told her. Probably only too glad to open up to somebody, she thought now, fixing Cecilia firmly into her pushchair. But all that stuff about Tim Froot! So he’d had a pretty grim reputation around the offices! And apparently, so the canteen gossip said, he’d also had fingers in lots of pies, dodgy business ones, with a posse of henchmen protecting him. She supposed the one who’d threatened her was one of them. This reminded her that she had agreed to meet Froot in Tresham the day after tomorrow. Gavin had forbidden it, and she had put off thinking about what would happen if she failed to turn up. ItIt was too horrible to contemplate, and she quickened her pace, wanting to be at home on her own territory. Gavin had told her to lock herself in for the moment, and that is what she intended to do.

So Froot had been after Paula, among others! But unlike herself, the poor woman had had to stay there, needing the money. One of the dodgy businesses had had to do with laundering money, Paula had said. And what else? Froot had come from Holland. Amsterdam… drugs?

“Gavin? It’s me. Yes, I’m safely home, and yes, I’ve locked the doors. Listen, I’ve got something to tell you. You’re just off out? Oh, all right then, I’ll tell you tonight. Say hello and goodbye to Cecilia… come on, sweetie, say hello to Daddy.”

JACK HICKSON’S CAREFULLY THOUGHT-OUT PLAN HAD BEEN scuppered. He had set out from the woods at the crack of dawn, just when the pigeons were starting to greet the light, and all went well until he reached the road. He had relied on getting a lift to Tresham with one of the long-distance lorries that took shortcuts through the villages in the early morning, aiming to miss rush-hour traffic round the big towns and cities.

This morning, unbeknown to Jack, as part of their strategy for protecting the Hickson family, the police had put a block on all heavy goods traffic going through a radius of twenty miles round Farnden. Only domestic vehicles were getting through. Jack waited in vain, knowing that it would be disaster guaranteed if he thumbed a lift from a local driver. He needed a stranger, a foreigner preferably, who would drive straight through the village and on to Tresham, where he could be dropped off and make the rest of his way on foot.

After waiting for an hour, when local traffic was beginning to appear, he decided he would have to walk, skirting the village through the fields, and then on to Tresham as best he could. When he looked at his watch, his heart sank to his boots. It would be much too late when he got there to carry out his plan of surprising the sleeping kidnapper, dealing out rough justice, and then rescuing his son and taking him back home to his mother. Then he would go to the police and tell all.

None of this was now likely, so he needed plan B. His feet were soaking wet from dew-covered meadows and inadequate boots, and he shivered. He had had nothing to eat since last night, and the early morning chill was not helping. But the thought of Jack in the hands of that corrupt villain drove him on, and in time he was within three miles of Tresham.

“Want a lift, mate?” A large van had stopped and a cheery-looking, totally bald driver leaned out.

Jack thought rapidly, and decided it was worth the risk. The van had come from Birmingham, and the driver was a stranger to him. He got in, glad to rest his legs and feet. The warmth inside the cab made his head swim, and he swayed.

“You all right, mate? You look all done in. Get a bit of shut-eye, if you want. Where’re you going? I’ll give you a nudge when we get there.”

“Only into Tresham,” Jack said. “You haven’t got anything I could eat, have you? Didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.”

The driver fished out a bread roll with a thick piece of ham liberally spread with mustard, and held it out. “Thanks a lot,” Jack said. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten for months.”

“On the road, are you? You don’t look like a vagrant.”

“No, I’m a professional gardener. It’s just that I lost my job and’ve been out of work for a good while. I’m going into town to try for another place.” He did not mention the hall.

The driver nodded approvingly. “Job situation is really bad at the moment, and I suppose people can do their own gardening if necessary. Mind you, in my case it’s a hobby. I love it. Out there, on my allotment, away from the wife! Nothing to beat it.”

They talked gardening for the rest of the way into Tresham, and then the driver dropped Jack off at a suitable place on the ring road. He remembered the way, and set off through a network of roads lined with redbrick terraces, all built in the affluent nineteenth century, when the town mushroomed. There it was, Barcelona Street, down-at-heel, with wrecks of old cars and wheelie bins spilling over onto the pavements. Number thirty-eight. Ah, yes, there it was, in all its glory!

Jack wondered briefly why the local authority allowed such a place to exist. Surely the site itself would be worth a fair bit? He crossed the road and stood outside. It would have to be a straight confrontation, and now that he was here, fortified by the ham roll, he felt more confident.

A middle-aged man came down the path and stopped. “You looking for somebody, mate?” he said.

Jack gave him a grateful smile, and answered that he had been searching for his young brother for weeks, but had had no luck. “Our old mum’s going crazy,” he lied. “Can you help at all?”

“I can, a bit,” the man replied. “But you’re just too late. Sorry about your brother, but the lot who lived here have all gone. Did a moonlight flit, the lot of ’em, thank God. Let’s hope they never come back. The council should’ve evicted them years ago. Anyway, if I were you, I’d turn back to where you came from. Nothing but tragedy and trouble from that house. Several of us have been in, and we found the body of a young girl, about fourteen, needles everywhere. She was still warm. Makes you sick.”