Paul Johnson - The Soul collector

People started coming through passport control. A young couple in blue denim from head to toe, including caps and trainers in the material, were arguing in a language that Detective Sergeant Browning couldn't identify. She took out her copy of the Daily Indie and pretended to read it, all the time casting surreptitious glances at the people who had just arrived. None of them was over fifty, never mind as old as Doris Carlton-Jones, and none of them bore any resemblance to Sara Robbins-though, if she'd had major plastic surgery, Amelia wasn't sure she'd recognize her.

The departure of the next ferry to Calais was announced. People started gathering up their luggage and heading for the ramps that led up to the passenger bridge. Amelia folded her paper. She was about to follow the others when an elderly Indian woman in a sari came out of the toilets. Her hair was an unnatural shade of black and she was carrying a large cuddly toy. There was something about the way she walked that caught the detective's eye. She didn't glide, like most Indian women in the full-length garment; her gait made the fabric bulge at the knees.

Amelia Browning stopped at the bottom of the ramp and turned away from the woman, her face toward the ship's high stern. When she heard the soft sound of the sari passing, she looked around.

"Mrs. Carlton-Jones?" she said, her voice as natural as she could make it.

The woman turned her head, then realized her mistake. The handcuffs were on her before she could take another step.

I called Karen when we got back to the car.

"Are they all right?" I asked, meaning the woman and the two kids we'd disinterred.

"They're in hospital. The paramedics were more concerned about their psychological than their physical state, particularly the woman's. They thought the kids would get over it quicker." "Not when they find out they're fatherless." "I didn't tell them that. Anyway, where the hell are you?" "Sternwood Castle. At least, I was." "Don't you bloody run away again, Matt." "Andy's still missing. Sara must have him. We're going to check her other properties." "If you mean the ones in Hackney, Oxford, Kent and Scotland, don't bother. I've arranged search-there was nobody there-and surveillance. We've also just picked up Doris Carlton-Jones in Dover." "No sign of Sara?" "No. Maybe her disguise was more convincing." "And her face more changed." "What were you doing at Sternwood Castle?" I gave her a quick run-through. She let out a long sigh when I'd finished. "Jesus, Matt. When will the killing stop?" "We didn't kill anyone tonight." "So you say." "Don't worry, I taped the whole thing. And thanks for the vote of confidence." She laughed bitterly. "You're a long way from getting one of those." "End of conversation then," I said, and broke the connection. Rog and Pete were pretending not to have overheard. My phone rang. I didn't recognize the number. "Matt, it's me." "Andy! Thank Christ! Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Yes to the first question. Where are we?" I heard someone else speak. "Blidbean in Kent. But, listen, you're not going to."

"Blidbean?" I said. "Never heard of it. What's the nearest-"

"Shut the fuck up, Matt!" he yelled. "I've got Lucy with me. Sara and her mother grabbed her."

My veins had filled with ice. "Lucy? Is she all right?" I asked hoarsely.

"Yes, in a minute you can speak to her, but there's something you have to sort first. Tell Karen that your mother and Caroline need help." I listened, then told Pete to call Karen, repeating the address of the safe house in East Grinstead that Lucy had remembered. Then I spoke to my daughter.

"What happened, darling?"

"I don't know who it was," she said, the words spilling out in a babble. I caught "motorbike helmet," "sprayed in the face" and "woke up with Andy staring at me."

I didn't scare her by asking anything about Sara. How had she found them? Lucy actually sounded over the worst. I knew Andy would have helped on that count, and she told me that the farmer's wife had given her clean clothes and something nice to eat. Apparently there were some very sweet kittens, too, could she have one? I said that her mother would have to rule on that.

As I was talking, Rog was driving toward the motorway at full pelt. Boney had briefed Karen and not long after we'd reached the M4, she called me back.

"We were lucky," she said. "There was a bomb squad unit only a few minutes away from East Grinstead."

I felt my stomach cartwheel. "A bomb squad unit?" "Someone-you can guess who-had fitted bomb- belts to them both. The timers had been set for midnight." I looked at my watch. It was half-past eleven. "Shit," I said. "Close one. Are Fran and Caroline all right?" "They've been taken to hospital, but I gather they were conscious, just drowsy. They'd been sprayed with some kind of knockout gas. Rings a bell, eh?" "Yup. Thanks, Karen." "I take it you've turned back and are waiting for me at the castle." "Em, no. We're going to pick up Lucy and Andy." There was silence for a while. "All right, Matt. But I'll be expecting you and your friends in my office at nine tomorrow." "Do I need a lawyer?" "I'd have thought you'd already have instructed one." She hung up. I'd completely forgotten about my impending manslaughter charge. Thirty The night continued to be a busy one. We picked up Andy and Lucy in a deserted part of Kent and drove to the hospital in East Grinstead. Caroline was out of bed. She wasn't talking to me, though she did behave in an appropriately maternal way to Lucy. I sat next to my mother, who was still lying down, her face pale. "I'm sorry about all this," I said. "How do you feel?" "I'm all right, dear. It's the gas. I still feel a bit dizzy." She looked at me. "It was her, wasn't it?" "Probably." "And she hasn't been caught?" I shook my head. "They may still get her." "You don't really believe that, do you, Matt?" I shrugged. "Sara isn't omnipotent. Andy could have caught her tonight, but he concentrated on getting Lucy out of her clutches." "Good for him," she murmured, her eyelids fluttering as she dropped off again. I hadn't managed to tell her that Slash rescued Lucy without knowing who she was. That made him even more of a hero in my eyes.

Lucy appeared on the other side of the bed, having been passed fit by the doctors. She bent over and gave her grandmother a kiss.

"Are you okay, then?" I asked.

"They want me to stay the night in case I have a reaction to the gas." She looked at me apologetically. "Mum wants to talk to you now."

On the way to the private room that my ex-wife had got for herself, I prepared for my hearing to be assaulted. Instead, Caroline was calm and collected.

"If you ever allow anything like that to happen to Lucy or me again," she said, "I will personally detach your scrotum and its contents from your supposedly he-man body."

There was more but, when Caroline showed no sign of stopping, I went to make sure that Andy was okay. He'd been given several stitches to his forehead, but his skull hadn't been fractured.

"Bloody hell, Slash," I said. "How did you manage to stay conscious, never mind open that miniknife and cut through the rope?"

"No sweat," he said. "They breed us tough in New Jersey."

Karen chose that moment to step through the cubicle curtains.

"Hi, doll," Andy said with a grin. "How's it hanging?"

I managed to swallow my laughter. The American really was a hero for talking to her like that. We left him and went outside.

"Any sign of Sara?" I asked.

Karen shook her head. "We're still checking, but." Her words trailed away and she ran her eyes over me. "Where are your weapons?" I feigned innocence. "And where are Rog and Pete?" "I'm not sure." That was partly true. Pete had gone off in a taxi to pick up his Cherokee, taking all our gear with him. He was somewhere between East Grinstead and Bromley. Rog, however, was out in the car park. I didn't mention that. She laughed. "Honestly, Matt, what do you take me for? Someone blasted their way into Sternwood Castle and several shots were fired in that awful cave. I suppose you're going to tell me the earl and Alistair Bing did all that." I remembered the tape. "Em, no. But I promise we had no choice." "The AC will be the judge of that, and you'll need to convince the local force, too." I raised my shoulders. "Piece of cake. Are you okay?" She shook her head at me. "I'm at the end of my tether." "You took the words right out of my mouth," I said, putting my arm around her. "Isn't that a song by Meat Loaf?" she asked, shaking free of me but managing to smile wanly. "It is," I said. "You always did have a worrying taste in music." She stopped and faced me. "Don't think you're in the clear, Matt. There are things ordinary citizens can't do." "Like murder and mutilate innocent crime writers, spray knockout gas into people's faces, attach bombs to them and bury people alive?" I asked.