48 Hours - A City of London Thriller, page 22
“I’m a trained investigator. I was taught by the best, over in the USA. Also I recognised the smell of printing ink from when I picked up our company brochures a couple of weeks ago. What I don’t know is where we are geographically, and you can help with that.”
“I don’t think I can. I was blindfolded like you all the time,” Lavender wailed, afraid that she was being negative.
“Lavender, please just stay calm. Listen carefully to my questions and answer them as best you can, OK?”
The young woman nodded, and actually managed a brief smile.
“Where exactly were you kidnapped?”
“About a mile and a half from Elephant and Castle, on Lambeth Road.”
Dee absorbed the information and asked another question. “From being kidnapped, how long did it take to get here?”
“About thirty five minutes,” Lavender said with some certainty.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. They didn’t take my watch. I was taken just after half past seven, and I was in this room being chained up at ten past eight.”
Dee smiled back at her encouragingly. “Excellent. Now, concentrate. Was the car moving quickly most of the time, or did it stop and start in traffic?”
“I guess we spent about five minutes at traffic lights and such, but most of the time the car was in fourth gear. It’s amazing what you hear when your eyes are covered up and all you have is your ears.”
“It certainly is,” Dee agreed. “Lavender, I suspect that if we were in West London they would have grabbed you closer to home. So, assuming we are North, South or East of London, thirty minutes at an average speed of about thirty miles an hour means you could have travelled around fifteen miles at the most. That would put us in Croydon to the South, Blackheath in the East or in North London or Essex. Did you cross a bridge?”
Lavender concentrated. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see.”
“Think back. If you crossed the Thames from Lambeth Road you would have crossed Blackfriars Bridge. Most of the bridges across the Thames have expansion joints. They allow the bridge structure to move a few millimetres without cracking the road surface. When cars cross these joints, there’s always a small shudder and a sound like this.” Dee banged her fists on the table a fraction of a second apart. “There would probably be four or more of these across the bridge. Do you remember anything like that?”
Lavender thought hard. “Maybe. I think I can remember that, but I don’t know whether I’m making myself believe it because you just told me about it.”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry. You’re doing very well,” Dee smiled. “Your dad will be proud of you. Take your time and try to remember. At the moment we can’t rule out any options. Did they say anything during the journey? Anything at all?”
Lavender’s brow creased in concentration. “Yes, they did, they were talking to each other, but nothing that’s any use, really. It was just a few minutes before we arrived.”
“Lavender, try to remember exactly what they said. It might be vital.”
“I think they said something about it being odd for the floodlights to be on when they weren’t even at home today. They also said Harry wouldn’t be pleased with the draw today and they would have to do better on Wednesday night. Does that even make sense to you?”
Dee took a deep breath. “Yes, Lavender, it does. You’ve done very well to remember all of that. I think I do know where we are, more or less. But we mustn’t let anyone know about this conversation, OK?” Lavender nodded, smiling properly for the first time.
***
Floodlights suggested a sports ground, presumably a large one. Not being at home today suggested football or rugby. A draw suggested football or cricket, but only football would be played again on Wednesday night.
Of course, Dee realised, it was probably Champions League. She remembered Josh talking about it to one of his friends at the match this afternoon. If only she could remember which team had drawn today and was also playing again on Wednesday.
Dee quite liked football, but didn’t know a great deal about it. She would certainly not have considered herself a fan, but some football news was hard to miss. She knew that Arsenal, Spurs and Chelsea were the London teams in the Champions League, so it had to be one of those three. She had seen Chelsea beat West Ham today, and Chelsea had been away, not at home, so it couldn’t be them. The ground Lavender had passed was not Chelsea’s.
So that left the two North London clubs, Arsenal and Tottenham. She couldn’t recall what their scores had been today, or whether either one had been at home, but she did know that Spurs’ next home match was against West Ham. Tickets had been advertised for sale on the hoardings dozens of times during the match.
She had narrowed their position down to North London, which was something. The trouble was that the Emirates Stadium, the home of Arsenal, was close to the A1, and White Hart Lane, where Spurs played, was close to the A10, both quite fast roads and both easily accessible from the river.
Something else popped into her mind. She looked at her new friend.
“Lavender, did you mention someone called Harry?”
Lavender nodded. “Yes, they said Harry would have their guts for garters if they didn’t play better.”
“Harry could be their manager. I think Arsene Venger is the manager at Arsenal, but I don’t know if Tottenham’s manager is called Harry,” Dee mused out loud.
“Of course he is,” Lavender almost shouted. “Harry Redknapp. He’s Louise Redknapp’s father in law. I’ve done modelling with Louise a few times. She’s married to Jamie Redknapp. He’s really quite nice.”
“Lavender, I could kiss you!” Dee said as she realised that they were within a few hundred yards of White Hart Lane, in Tottenham, North London. She knew approximately where they were, and what kind of building they were in. Now all she had to do was work out how they were going to get out of there.
Chapter 66
Commercial Road, Tottenham, North London. Saturday, 10pm.
Lavender had been talking for a while and Dee had explained why she was dressed in a jumpsuit. Lavender didn’t need to explain why she was dressed the way she was.
The last hour had been something of a confessional, where Dee had listened to a little girl lost who thought she was an adult and so behaved like one. When Lavender listened to Dee and heard about her experiences, she suddenly realised that here was a substantive woman who was beautiful and tough and who felt no desire for celebrity.
Was her shrink right, she wondered for the first time? Was Lavender Fisher a lost soul seeking fame through notoriety, just as her mother and father had done? They had settled down eventually, and no doubt Lavender would, too, one day, but they had both enjoyed successful careers in the full glare of celebrity. Lavender had hosted a few TV shows because she was Don Fisher’s daughter, but she hadn’t actually achieved anything in her own right.
Lavender confided in Dee that when they eventually got out of this mess, she would go into rehab and come off alcohol and drugs.
Dee spoke to her like a kindly older sister. “Lavender, that’s the wrong move. All you would be doing is making someone else responsible for getting you sober and clean. Even if it works, because you didn’t do it yourself, you’ll slip back. You need to do something constructive, something to give your life direction. Why don’t you come and work with me for two months as an intern? Live at home. Get yourself sorted out and I’ll show you what a real job looks like.”
“You would do that for me?” Lavender asked, surprised.
“Yes, I would. Believe me when I say that I’ve helped girls in a much worse state than you. Girls who have been trafficked for sex and exploited by evil people in the name of profit or cult religion. It worked for them, and it can work for you, too, if you really want it to. Now, remember the plan. We have to stick with it, OK?”
***
From the first minute she had been taken, Dee had expected that this moment would come, and so she had prepared herself and coached Lavender.
Two of the masked men stood at the end of the table with a video camera. They were the two whom Dee had injured. They were clearly still suffering, judging by their fidgeting and complaining.
Piet gave the girls their orders. “This video will last a minute and not a second longer, so choose your words wisely. I will introduce you both and you will each tell your people that they must stop the police pursuing the blackmail case, first of all. The police must then come to an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday evening at six, or your families don’t see you again.”
Piet stood behind the camera and counted Gregor in.
“Three, two, one.” Gregor pressed record; both girls were in shot, sitting either side of the table, still chained as before. Their captor introduced them to the camera.
“As you can see, we have Lavender Fisher and Diane Fraser. We guarantee that they will both be returned safely, just as long as you have the police reach an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday at six in the evening.”
Piet fell silent and pointed to Lavender, who fell straight into her prepared speech, although her voice quavered with nerves.
“Dad, I’m so, so sorry. I caused all of this. I promise that if you make the police do as these men say, I’ll give up the celebrity lifestyle and take that office job on the first floor.”
Piet pointed at Dee, or Diane as he had called her. Her voice was much stronger.
“Josh, please don’t go into print with your statement. Press the police to agree to the terms these guys want. If you don’t, you’ll find your next opposition right here.”
Piet spoke from behind the camera again. “Remember, Monday, six o’clock, or you never see either of them again.”
The camera was switched off, and Piet announced sardonically, “That’s a wrap, folks.”
Chapter 67
Vastrick Security, No. 1 Poultry, London. Saturday, Midnight.
We all sat around the conference table waiting for the inevitable call, well aware that it might not come until tomorrow. I was still having trouble grasping the reality of the situation. The police were busy examining both crime scenes and each force had a representative in the room with us.
Around the table were Tom Vastrick, Inspector Boniface, DCI Coombes and an agitated Don Fisher. At the head of the table with a mass of electronics was a young man called Levi, whose Jewish heritage was not in question once one had seen him.
Both my BlackBerry and Fisher’s IPhone were plugged in to a speaker and we had been given headsets that we could don as soon as a call came in. The idea was that any calls be traced, recorded, decoded and analysed by voice stress analysts sitting at Scotland Yard.
In the end it was a waste of time, as two text messages came in simultaneously from a Dutch mobile phone number. The message was simple.
“Follow the link www.flickr.com/48hrs/Videos.”
Levi wasn’t fazed by the unexpected turn of events, and within a few seconds the photo storage and networking site was on our screen. There was one video in the collection and Levi clicked on it. A play arrow was displayed.
“Before we run this, I want full transcript, enhanced video stills and full analysis of any key words or signals. I suggest we conference call in 30 minutes to swap war stories,” Tom Vastrick said to the people in his office and to Scotland Yard via the open communication link.
Levi pressed play.
A man appeared on the video, which was reasonably good quality, and spoke. His voice was slightly muffled because of the ski mask, and he was trying to conceal his accent by exaggerating a British twang. He had chosen his background well, as on first look there were no clues as to where he was.
“Mr Fisher, Mr Hammond and associated representatives of the Police Force. There follows a message and I urge you take it seriously. I would not say this in front of the hostages but they will die if our demands are not met. I cannot help but notice they are both attractive women, the kind that men dream of having on their arm and in their bed.”
The video picture faded and a new scene faded in. On the screen we could see Lavender and Dee either side of a long table with chains on their wrists. A disembodied voice spoke, again muffled and this time affecting a Mid Atlantic accent.
“As you can see, we have Lavender Fisher and Diane Fraser. We guarantee that they will both be returned safely, just as long as you have the police reach an agreement with Lord Hickstead by Monday at six in the evening.”
I was taken aback. Who was Diane Fraser? The others looked puzzled, too. We couldn’t dwell on the anomaly at that moment, however, as a nervous Lavender began to speak to the camera.
“Dad, I’m so, so sorry. I caused all of this. I promise that if you make the police do as these men say, I’ll give up the celebrity lifestyle and take that office job on the first floor.”
“What job?” Don Fisher blurted.
But any conversation was curtailed as Dee spoke.
“Josh, please don’t go into print with your statement. Press the police to agree to the terms these guys want. If you don’t, you’ll find your next opposition right here.”
It was my turn to say “What?”
The second kidnapper spoke from behind the camera again.
“Remember, Monday, six o’clock, or you never see either of them again.”
***
As soon as the video ended there was a flurry of activity, and analysts were poring over every work spoken for clues.
“Mr Fisher, Josh, let me start by saying that at Vastrick we train all of our operatives in surviving hostage situations. Just like the military, we use certain key words and phrases that signal useful pieces of information. After that, it’s up to the ingenuity of the hostage, and Dee is ingenious, believe me. I know because I’ve watched her in action. Now, can I have your initial thoughts on what we just saw and heard?”
I spoke out first.
“The very first thing that puzzled me was the way the man called Dee, Diane Fraser. I can’t explain that. Why give a false name?”
“I think I know,” Levi said, staring at his screen where a picture of a young woman was prominent. “The Vastrick database has thrown up a reference to a former case where we recovered a cult member after her parents made a donation to ‘The new world order for tranquillity’.”
“I remember that case,” Tom Vastrick interrupted, frowning. Obviously it hadn’t ended well. “The cult leaders said if the parents paid half a million pounds in donations, they would excommunicate their daughter and expel her. The parents paid up, and our operatives were directed to an industrial unit where we found Diane Fraser fit and healthy and angry, having been chained up. Sad thing was, after a month she went straight back to the cult. It was probably a ploy. OK people, analysis please.”
A voice came over the speakers.
“Tom, this is Luke. As there is no cult involvement here, could it be that Dee is sending us a message that she is being held in an industrial unit?”
Tom looked around the table, and Boniface and Coombes both nodded their agreement with the analysis. We moved on to Lavender’s statement, and Don Fisher spoke up.
“I don’t know what the girl is on about. I’ve never offered her an office job and our offices don’t have a first floor, anyway.”
“I think she’s a clever girl,” Coombes commented. “Surely she means that they are being held in a first floor office. So far we have them in an industrial unit, with two storey offices, and they’re on the first floor.”
Boniface leaned over and squeezed the DCI’s shoulder. DCI Coombes beamed as the table accepted his analysis. The door opened and a full printed transcript was given to everyone. We were then told that the video stills were being printed. Boniface took the lead for a moment.
“Josh’s statement was taken days ago, and he signed it in Dee’s presence. It would seem to me that the first part, about going into print, must also be a coded message.”
We all pondered what it could mean, and the analysts set algorithms away that would analyse all possible meanings of the words.
“Luke again,” the speaker chirped. The computer is showing that the word ‘print’ can be associated with the word ‘press’ in the next sentence, as in ‘printing press’. This could be code for Dee telling us that the industrial unit houses a printing press.”DCI Coombes and Inspector Boniface whispered to one another before Coombes said in a loud voice, “DS Scott, are you still sitting with the voice analysts at Scotland Yard?”
“Yes, Guv. We can hear and see everything that’s going on.”
“Good. The Inspector and I would like you to run a check on all print companies inside the M25. Don’t bother with print shops, just the ones operating out of industrial premises. Oh, and see if we’ve had any suspicions or reports on any of them.”
“OK, Guv, I’m on it now.”
We all looked at the next section of the transcript, and Tom continued.
“So, we know that Dee thinks that there are at least four men holding them, did everyone see that?” Everyone nodded but me and Don Fisher.
“Run that part again, Levi,” he said, seeing our puzzlement. “Watch her hands.”
Dee had been sitting with her hands in closed fists, and as soon as she said the words “these guys”, she opened her right hand and tucking her thumb underneath tapped the table gently with four fingers.
I didn’t know who was cleverer, Dee for coming up with it, or the detectives in the room who noticed that imperceptible movement. Along with a strong feeling of pride in Dee I also felt a quick stab of pain at the loss, no matter how temporary, of the woman I loved.
***
Things had been going well and everyone was exuding a confidence and bravado that lifted Don Fisher’s spirits and my own, but then they faltered. The clumsy phrasing of Dee’s last sentence obviously meant something, but neither the analysts nor the computer had a reasonable interpretation of what it meant.
They all turned to me. Inspector Boniface voiced the opinion of them all.
