Festival, page 10
‘No, sir, and I cannot do so. Your own experience will tell you why.’
‘Of course you are right, Chief Constable. But in this situation I am the politician and you are the general. I must remind you that generals whose plans fail are liable to be sacked.’
‘I am fully aware of that. I have explained as much as I can to you so that if things go wrong you may be able to protect Dr Macdonald and, perhaps, others whom I may instruct to help me.’
Sir Gervase suddenly ceased to be official, and became the man for whom others had readily risked their lives in war. He put his hand on Piet’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about that, my boy,’ he said. ‘Do as you think fit, and I’ll back you to the hilt. I respect you for coming to me as you did, and it will make it easier for me to understand events. But as far as I’m concerned you have not been here this evening. We have not had this conversation. In the morning I shall convey my sympathy to your wife about your illness.’
*
Piet’s next call meant a drive through the night to London. Miserable as he felt about Sally and his mother, he had a curious sense of fulfilment as he left Warrinder Hall – he was doing once more what he had been trained for, pitting his own reasoning and imagination against some of the real enemies of society. He might or might not succeed. At least he could try.
After a few miles on his way he stopped at a call-box and rang an ex-directory number. It was that of Sir John Carfax, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner. Piet needed the help of some of his old colleagues at New Scotland Yard, but a man who is supposed to be gravely ill in hospital could scarcely go there openly. He barely knew Sir John Carfax, whose appointment as Police Commissioner was relatively recent, but he had met him informally at one of a series of gatherings Sir John had given for chief constables, and he knew a good deal about the new commissioner, as Sir John doubtless knew of him. He proposed to invite himself to Sir John’s house in Chelsea, at the unusual time of around midnight. The number he rang was one that he had by virtue of his own office as chief constable.
He was lucky in that Sir John was at home. As soon as he said who he was, Sir John said, ‘You are in all our hearts and minds. What can I do to help?’
‘A lot, Sir John, if you will. Firstly, I want to come to see you in the middle of the night.’
The commissioner took this calmly. ‘Well, you know where I live, because I think you came to one of my small dinner parties.’
‘Yes. I should be with you around midnight, or a bit after. I’m sorry to keep you up like this, but it’s important.’
‘You wouldn’t be ringing otherwise. I noticed that your call is from a call-box.’
‘Yes. I may be over-cautious, but you will understand why.’
‘I don’t question your judgement. Look, my door is locked by one of those beastly electrical devices that can’t be opened until you have announced who you are. You may prefer not to give your name on a doorstep. Say “Mackintosh here – Jim Boyce Mackintosh”. Try to use the precise phrase – I have to take precautions, too.’
‘Mackintosh here – Jim Boyce Mackintosh, signing off,’ Piet said.
*
Sir John Carfax lived in an attractive small house in a quiet Chelsea side street. Piet got there about a quarter of an hour after midnight, left his car a block away and walked back to the door. He followed his instructions, and the door opened. Sir John was standing in the little hall to meet him. His greeting was practical. ‘You look tired and hungry. When did you last eat?’ he asked.
‘Oh, some time around lunchtime yesterday, but I’m all right.’
‘Well, you are not all right for me. My wife has gone to bed, and we’ve the house to ourselves. Come into the kitchen. I’m not going to listen to another word until you’ve put yourself outside some bacon and eggs.’
Piet didn’t argue. Sir John was a competent hand in the kitchen; Piet ate his meal and felt the better for it. When Piet had finished eating, Sir John made coffee for both of them, real coffee ground from beans. ‘We can talk as safely here as anywhere else,’ he said. ‘What’s it all about?’
Piet told him. Sir John was young for the job of Police Commissioner, but he was ten years older than Piet, and his far longer experience was marked. Before his appointment to London he had been an outstanding chief constable, and he was among the ablest policemen in Britain. Piet didn’t need to explain the things he found disturbing. Sir John took them in without comment.
‘So I can see no alternative to carrying on by myself,’ Piet continued. ‘But I need help from you and my old colleagues at New Scotland Yard. The first thing I’ve got to do is to get an address for the Jane Partridge whose credit card I found in the purse on the Downs. I wonder if you could get that done for me as early as possible in the morning? It shouldn’t take long. We’ve got the number of the card, and the Associated Bank Group is bound to have a central record of the cards it issues.’
‘It has. It’s not in London, though, but in South Wales, where the Government wanted the banks to provide more office employment. But there’s a computer link, and the office in London can extract the information in a matter of minutes. Of course we can get that done. What next?’
‘Until I know where the woman came from I can’t say. As soon as I’ve got an address I shall go there and start discreet inquiries.’
‘I have some information that may contribute to your own theories. Unhappily, I’ve nothing that relates directly to the kidnapping of your daughter or to the Earl’s Down festival, but for some time there have been growing indications of the existence of an organisation which clouds the investigation of major crime, particularly concerned with the large-scale theft of drugs or jewels – of anything of high value in relation to size and weight.’
‘That would fit in, certainly. It wouldn’t necessarily be in my constabulary area, though – indeed, it probably wouldn’t be.’
‘I’m afraid it would have links with many police forces, including, alas, the Metropolitan Police. That seems to me to make for difficulties in your independent investigation.’
‘I don’t see that. It will be safer if I’m on my own. And don’t forget that nominally I’m gravely ill in hospital. Except for yourself and one inspector of my own, whom I trust completely, nobody else knows about the finding of this purse. If the Metropolitan Police start making official inquiries they will be known about at any rate within certain departments at Scotland Yard, and if you are right in your own suspicions, we can’t risk that. I need your help, but I don’t want to call in the Yard openly.’
‘You’re right there, I think. You will have to call us in at some time, but I’m prepared to leave the timing to you. How do you want us to set about getting that address from the bank? That will have to be done officially.’
‘I worked for the Metropolitan Police for a good many years, and it is not all that long since I left. You have got to assume that some people are beyond suspicion, and I know whom I’d be prepared to trust.’ Piet mentioned several names. ‘If you can make your selection from among those, Sir John, and explain the need for absolute secrecy, I’d be more than content. It would mean my having to keep in touch with you, because for obvious reasons I can’t go to – even phone – the Yard at the moment.’
‘There’s no problem about that. You can ring one of the ex-directory numbers here – there are several lines, and I can see that the phone is reliably manned. Can you stay here until you set out on your travels?’
‘That’s very nice of you. Yes, it would be a great help.’
‘What about your car?’
‘Lord! I’ve slipped up there! I came in my own car – it ought to be in the garage at home.’
‘Well, you’ve thought about it in time. I’ll arrange to have it taken back at once, and it will be safely in your garage before daylight. Is the garage locked?’
‘Yes. Here’s the key. The garage is a bit away from the house, and if your man goes in without lights he should be able to get the car in without attracting attention.’
‘Good. I’ll have to send two men, one to drive your car, and one with another car to bring the other driver back. Where is the car now?’
Piet told him, and Sir John went off to make the necessary arrangements. Within five minutes the electrical speaker announced a caller at the door. Sir John explained what had to be done, and handed over Piet’s key.
‘How are you supposed to be getting to hospital?’ he asked when he came back.
‘I’m not sure, because I’ve left all that to our police medical officer, Dr Gavin Macdonald. I’ve had to take him into my confidence without explaining why – a horrible position for him, but he’s been a friend since I became Chief Constable, and he’s one of the people I decided I’d have to trust. He saw me earlier this evening, he knows that I’m going back to my office some time during the night, he’s worried about me, so he waits there for me. He persuades me to go home, but he’s still worried about me, and follows me in his own car. As soon as I’ve put the car away I collapse, or something, and he takes me straight to hospital in his own car. That avoids having to be involved with an ambulance.’
‘What hospital?’
‘Again, I’ve left that to Dr Macdonald. Three days seems to me about the outside limit for keeping up the pretence, and Gavin reckons that he may be able to keep me in an undisclosed hospital for up to three days. I’m so ill with a major heart attack on top of my anxiety about Jo that nobody at all, not even my wife, is allowed to see me. An undisclosed hospital would mean that there’s nowhere for the Press to make inquiries.’
‘They’ll probably try every hospital within 100 miles. Distasteful, perhaps, but it’s their job, and part of the price we pay for having a free Press. In the long run it’s probably worth it. Fortunately there are a lot of hospitals, and various private nursing homes where you could be. Still, I think that doctor of yours is going to have his work cut out. It’s a good effort on his part to take it on. Now, it’s high time that you turned in. I’ve got a room all ready for you, and my officer brought back your bag before he took away the car. He also took some things out of the boot – a holdall with paints and brushes in it, an easel and a folding stool. I don’t know if you want them, but they’re here to go off with you if you do.’
‘I do want them – it was intelligent of your man to look in the boot. Artists in England are regarded as slightly mad, and an easel and a sketching block are accepted as valid reasons for poking your nose into odd places. If you can’t be a policeman, it’s quite useful to be an artist.’
‘Well, from what I’ve heard you used to be the best artist at the Yard, as well as a good detective. Maybe you’ll bring back a masterpiece if you don’t find anything else.’
‘Maybe. Thank you for everything, anyway.’
*
Although Piet thought that he would never sleep again he seemed scarcely to have gone to bed before it was half-past eight, and Sir John was in his room with a pot of coffee and a pile of newspapers. He handed one to Piet. ‘You’re the lead story in practically all of them,’ he said.
Piet read banner headlines across the front page:
POLICE CHIEF GRAVELY ILL
AFTER SNATCH OF DAUGHTER
In ‘Immediate Danger’
Then the story:
Early this morning North Wessex Police issued the following statement: The Chief Constable of North Wessex, Mr Piet Deventer, is gravely ill after a serious heart attack during the night. Mr Deventer has not slept since the kidnapping of his infant daughter, but he refused leave, and insisted on carrying on with all his normal work as well as leading the police hunt for his child. The strain has brought about his sudden collapse with a major cardiac emergency. He is in hospital under the care of specialists, who insist that he must see nobody, not even his wife or mother. Mr Deventer is in immediate danger of further cardiac failure, and only intensive care in conditions of absolute rest can save his life. For this reason we are not able to disclose to which hospital Mr Deventer has been taken, and the police appeal to representatives of the media and to all well-wishers not to try to make inquiries. Further bulletins will be issued as necessary. Mr Deventer’s duties as Chief Constable have been taken over by his deputy, Mr Victor Norton, who will coordinate the hunt for Mr Deventer’s daughter, which is being actively pursued by police forces throughout Britain.
The news had come too late for the papers to add much to the official statement, but one reporter had managed to get hold of Sir Gervase Warrinder and quoted him as saying, ‘We are all immensely proud of Mr Deventer, and his collapse – all too sadly understandable – is an additional blow to his family. I can but hope that this will make the public generally understand the burdens borne by the police of all ranks in upholding law and order.’
‘Your doctor seems to have done all right so far,’ Sir John said. ‘I’m just off to the Yard to get an address for Miss Jane Partridge and to fix up another car for you. I’ll come back here as soon as I’ve got any information, and I hope you will let my wife give you breakfast in bed.’
‘You gave me what amounted to breakfast in the early hours. This coffee’s marvellous, and I couldn’t eat anything now. Please beg Lady Carfax not to bother about me. I’ll have a bath and shave, and be ready in good time for your return.’
‘Well, please yourself. I’ll leave the papers with you, anyway.’
*
Soon after nine thirty Sir John was back. ‘High marks for efficiency to your old friend Chief Superintendent March, and to the banks,’ he said. ‘Miss Partridge was a customer of the Western Counties Bank at Delabole in North Cornwall, and she lived at Pendenna House. I’ve looked it up on the map, and I’ve brought the North Cornwall sheet of the Ordnance Survey for you. Pendenna seems no more than a hamlet, about three miles south-west of Delabole, a mile or so inland from the coast. There’s a car for you outside, and here’s a cheque book and a bank card in the name of Andrew Johnson. March fixed it up at the head office of the bank. The bank has also arranged for you to have drawing rights at the Delabole branch, so if you need money there’ll be no need to disclose your identity.’
‘I wasn’t surprised when you got the job as Commissioner,’ Piet said. ‘You make me feel that I’m scarcely up to my own job as Chief Constable.’
‘I haven’t had my daughter kidnapped. You’re not doing so badly. The plan that you are carrying out is all yours – I’m simply doing what I can to help. There’s one other thing. I don’t know if you thought to bring a pistol, so I’ve got you one of those new small automatics that have recently been introduced. They’re not very accurate at any sort of range, but useful at close quarters. And they’ve got a convenient underarm holster, and if you adjust it properly you can wear it under a shirt without anybody’s noticing it much. So here it is, with a couple of spare clips. If you don’t need it, no harm done, but if by any chance you do, I’d be happier to feel that you had it with you.’
Piet had not thought about firearms. He realised that Sir John was right, and took the weapon.
VI
Two Sisters
ONCE HE WAS through the weight of London traffic and on the motorway heading west Piet’s mind went over what he knew, and on what he could still only speculate. Speculation, alas, outweighed knowledge. Mentally, he listed what he felt could be regarded as more or less certain facts:
Jo had been taken from her pram at some time between noon and perhaps 12.15.
She had then been handed over to the woman driver of the Mini van, who took her to the Downs. He thought ‘handed over’ was probably correct, for it seemed unlikely that the woman had actually lifted Jo from the pram. There was no proof of this, but the footmark on the path was that of a man’s shoe, and the unidentified fingerprints on the pram itself seemed probably a man’s.
On the Downs, the woman driver, whom he now called Jane Partridge, had left the van and walked with Jo towards the Earl’s Down festival.
But she had not arrived carrying Jo! Half an hour later she was dead.
On the way to Earl’s Down she had made a slight diversion to the group of standing stones where she had dropped her purse, and where there were signs of the presence of a horse. The hoofmarks were recent, for they were still traceable on the turf, but there was no means of telling when they were made, and they may have had nothing to do with Jane Partridge. But Piet thought that a rider out for a good gallop would normally keep away from a group of big stones, and it seemed fair to speculate that the horse was in some way connected with Jane. But Jane had not arrived at the festival on horseback – true, he didn’t actually know this, but there had been no reports of a loose horse wandering about, and if there had been such a horse someone would have had to do something about it.
