Brian Freemantle - The Predators

Norris was equally intent upon Claudine, isolating her as his opponent. He was smiling faintly. Claudine attacked. ‘The puncture was entirely accidental?’

‘There are still some tests to be carried out.’ Norris settled back comfortably, considering the encounter a further establishment of his position.

Claudine saw Harding’s eyes flicker sideways, towards his superior. Rampling was frowning at the man, too. ‘At this moment is there any evidence to suggest that the puncture was anything but accidental?’

‘I’m awaiting the results of the test.’

It wasn’t going to be difficult, thought Claudine. ‘Could the misunderstanding at the school have been anticipated?’

‘No. It should not have happened. The culprit has already been disciplined.’

‘Mary should not have been permitted to leave the school?’

‘No.’

‘Nor should she have walked off, alone? She should have returned to the building?’

There was a vague wariness. ‘Yes.’

‘Could it have been anticipated that she wouldn’t?’

Beside the FBI chief Harding was looking down hard at the floor again. McBride and his wife were moving their heads back and forth with each question and answer.

Norris said: ‘No.’

Claudine prolonged the silence until McBride shifted impatiently. She said: ‘You’ve just admitted totally misunderstanding the crime we are investigating. And by your refusal to listen to anyone’s voice or opinion other than your own you’re putting yourself – your reputation – before saving a child…’

There was an audible intake of breath from the legal attache. McBride swivelled to the FBI man but before the ambassador could speak Norris shook his head, the smile broadening, and said: ‘This is quite ridiculous. We’re wasting time here, sir-’

‘How could Mary have been targeted as a kidnap victim without its being known in advance that the car would have a puncture, the school would misunderstand a telephone message and she’d walk off up the rue du Canal when there was no one waiting to collect her?’ demanded Claudine.

The room was frozen by silence. She had little right to condemn Sanglier for bullying, Claudine accepted. But there was a very important difference. She was knowingly doing it to achieve an essential end result.

‘I really don’t think this should-’ Norris started, but McBride stretched sideways, stopping the man with a warding-off gesture. He leaned forward over his desk towards Claudine and said: ‘You’ve got an audience, doctor. I’m going to listen to everything you say but by Christ you’d better be right.’

Claudine’s attention hadn’t wavered from Norris. His mouth was moving, the words barely held back, and she decided that in his outrage the man was only just acknowledging the ambassador’s authority. Remembering their supposed ignorance of the incoming Mary, Mary message Claudine demanded: ‘Tell me what their approach was.’

For a moment the FBI chief remained motionless, until McBride made another gesture, a beckoning motion this time. Norris reached into the file propped against his chair, extracting a single sheet of paper.

‘Read it to us,’ Claudine insisted, forcing the imperious tone. It was a thin tightrope, trying to impose her will upon Norris at the same time as impressing the ambassador and his wife with her assessment to convince them that she should conduct any negotiation.

Norris did, his voice cracking in impotent fury.

‘That an original print-out?’ persisted Claudine, following the courtroom cross-examination principle of never asking a question to which the answer wasn’t known.

‘A copy. The screen cleared before we had time to get a print-out.’

‘Analyse it for us,’ insisted Claudine remorselessly. This was appalling, she knew. She didn’t have the slightest doubt that Norris was suffering the clinical mental impairment she’d earlier suspected. And by doing everything she could – as relentlessly as she could – to expose the professional inadequacy she was actually treating the man in a way diametrically opposed to the path she should have taken. Know thyself, she thought. Was her behaviour justified by the excuse of trying to rescue a child in every sort of physical and mortal danger? Or was it worse even than bullying? Wasn’t she guilty of her own impairment, the need always to show that Claudine Carter was the best and prepared to trample any opposition underfoot to prove it? More than that, even? Wasn’t she really performing, after all, to impress Peter Blake?

‘It’s the initial contact from people who have kidnapped Mary Beth McBride,’ said Norris formally, his confidence recovering.

‘From whom?’ she jabbed, refusing to let go.

Norris hesitated. ‘The people who’ve got her.’ Doggedly: ‘Her kidnappers.’

‘Tell us about them.’

Norris looked uncertain. ‘More than one. It would have had to be a car, to grab her off the street. At least one to drive, the other to subdue her when she realized what had happened. Enough money to own or gain access to a vehicle. Computer literate, with access to a modem. Money again-’

‘I meant from the message,’ Claudine interrupted. ‘That’s police reasoning, not psychological profiling. Tell me what you learn from the message itself. What it tells you about Mary, too.’

Norris broke his direct gaze, looking down to the paper as if he expected more than the message to be there. He became aware of McBride’s attention and briefly looked back before saying: ‘Beginning of a familiar kidnap pattern: abductors knowing they are in charge. The absence of any initial demand or how to respond is to impose pressure…’

Poor bastard, Claudine thought. Poor mentally confused, mentally blocked bastard. ‘You’re not properly interpreting a single indicator. Mary was abducted by chance, not design. The only intention of those who’re holding her was to get a child. They’re paedophiles.’

‘Oh dear God, no,’ moaned Hillary softly. ‘Not that.’ Her composure left her completely, her face crumpling.

‘I don’t think using a child’s nursery rhyme was necessarily intended to identify their sexual predilection, although in my opinion it does,’ Claudine pressed on, her sympathy switching to parents who from the beginning would have feared what she’d just openly declared. ‘But the choice of that particular rhyme was most definitely intentional, far beyond the coincidence of the name. Mary’s disobedient – a contrary child. She might have got willingly into a car but she’s resisted – defied them – since.’

‘Is she alive?’ demanded Hillary. ‘What will they have done to her?’

Claudine didn’t want to create any false hope – it was difficult at that moment to imagine any other sort – but she believed there was a fragile straw at which the couple could clutch. ‘She has to be alive for them to know how contrary she is, doesn’t she?’

‘What about…?’ groped McBride, unable to say the words. ‘Would they have…?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Claudine. ‘The message does mean they’ve turned it into an abduction. As long as it remains that, there’s a possibility she’ll be safe… safe in every way.’ It wasn’t the absolute truth but it wasn’t an absolute lie, either. But there was no purpose in reducing to total despair people who had already lost their child, perhaps for ever. Destroying one man, as she feared she was destroying John Norris, was more than enough. The thin American had brought his head up to look at her again, his face fixed. Several times, as she talked, Harding and Rampling had nodded, as if in acceptance. So had the legal attache. She assessed Burt Harrison’s face-twisted frown to be both an acknowledgement of her judgement and disgust at what it meant. The ambassador was as crumpled as his wife, his whole body seeming to wither, a man – a father – brought face to face with the most unthinkable horror.