Joy Duggan just couldn’t bear the atmosphere in the house any longer. It had been bad enough before, but now Patrick was dead and her dad gone off, bent on revenge and her mum worried sick about it all, well, Joy just had to get out.
It was OK for her older brother. Brian was running things while their dad was away. He was busy being the boss. Organizing. He was good at that sort of stuff, had a good business head their dad said, same as Patrick had a good head for the learning stuff.
Joy, well, Joy knew she was no brainbox. She was popular and pretty and knew how to dress and do her face and her dad always said she was a sweet thing, lovely nature. She’d heard him say the same about the thoroughbred racehorse he had a share in. He thought that was dim too. Pretty to look at but nothing going on between the ears.
It wasn’t that Joy felt unloved. She knew she was Daddy’s princess and that both brothers worshipped the ground she walked on and she’d even made friends with Patrick’s girlfriend. They’d gone shopping together, giggling like Joy did with her usual group of friends and Pat had told her after that Jess had really enjoyed herself.
‘It’s good for her to unwind,’ he said. ‘I sometimes think she forgets how to have fun.’
That was the trouble though, wasn’t it? They all had things to be serious about. Pat and Jess had their studies and they both knew that they were training to do something that would make a difference to people’s lives. Brian was a businessman, through and through. He was slowly steering their dad’s affairs on to a more legitimate level so a few years from now, so their mum said, he’d be a respected member of the community and people would forget where he had come from.
Joy knew that was important to her mum.
But what could she do? What part could Joy play in the family business seeing as her dad said a definite ‘no’ when she asked if he would let her dance for a profession?
She missed Pat. He’d been a good friend. They’d fought like cat and dog when they’d been kids but as they’d both grown up all of that seemed to slide away. It was like when they’d packed away the Lego and the dolls, they’d packed away their differences. It was thanks to Pat that Joy had passed any of her exams and he’d encouraged her to go to the local FE college and get a diploma. She’d done a year of complementary therapies and been accepted on to the advanced class. Not that it was all that hard, she thought. Mostly it was all about making people feel good about themselves, all that head massage and aromatherapy and crystals and stuff. She wasn’t sure she believed in any of it, but she knew that giving people a bit of time made them feel more positive and she figured when it came down to it, that was why things seemed to work.
Pat said that was an important thing to know. Pat said that making people feel better was why he and Jess were doing what they were doing and that she was just making it happen a different way.
Joy wasn’t convinced but one thing she did know was that it would take a lot more than a bunch of crystals and someone rubbing her feet to stop her or Jessie or her mum or her brother from hurting the way they did now.
She knew her dad was hurting too, but he wasn’t here, hadn’t been in touch and, somehow, the fact that he was away playing angel of vengeance, made it hard to know exactly how he felt. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t want to think about it. Pat had been his favourite. Joy knew that. He’d lost his favourite son.
She pushed the bright-red hair back from her forehead. The wind caught it and tugged it across her face. She could have got someone to drive her into town, but her mum would have fussed. Better to just slip out and wait for the bus. It would be good when she passed her test and could drive herself, but that was a way off yet and without Pat to help her revise the theory …
Joy blinked hard, trying to stop the tears, tried to pretend it was only the wind making her eyes water. She searched her raincoat pocket for a tissue and was wiping her eyes when the man came up to her. Maybe, if she’d been paying a bit more attention things might have turned out differently, but her mind was elsewhere and she was flustered about being seen bawling in the street like a little kid.
‘You got a light, love?’ he asked.
‘Sorry, don’t smoke.’
‘Oh, OK.’ She was aware too late of the second man behind her, shoving something over her face, his arm trapping hers against her body.
Then the world went black.
Just after noon Randall received the call he had been waiting for. The abductors had finally made contact with the Goldmans. Eagerly, he listened to the intercepted call. The voice heavily disguised as always. The abductor used an off-the-shelf electronic voice changer, little more, Randall thought, than a kid’s toy. Randall’s electronic gizmos had long ago stripped away the disguise and he knew that Travis Haines always made these calls in person.
Obviously, he enjoyed the reaction.
The messages themselves were also very similar, designed to tug any parental heart strings not already at full tension.
‘Deborah and Sarah miss their mummy and daddy,’ Haines said. ‘They’re quite sure you’ll do anything to get them back.’
No figures, no information on how to make the exchange. Again, that was typical of Haines. Randall remembered the call that had come into his own home and the hours of hysteria that followed as his wife wept and begged him to just do whatever the man wanted.
He recalled what his response had been too. ‘I told you to bugger off,’ Randall said out loud to himself. ‘But I don’t expect Mummy and Daddy Goldman will have that kind of nerve.’
Did he regret his decision?
Randall didn’t believe in regret.
One thing bothered him about this latest abduction and that was the length of time that had elapsed between the taking of the children and the first contact with the parents. Haines had always taken his time over the issuing of his demands, three or four days was normal, though there was usually an initial contact within an hour or so, just so the parents didn’t get any silly idea about calling the police and reporting their treasures missing. But this was different. More than a week had elapsed and that didn’t make sense. Most parents would have folded, called the police. In fact, most parents would have reported the kids missing within the same hour that they noticed them gone, as soon as they’d checked any possible hiding places, asked neighbours, called family and friends. Randall had assumed that Haines had made initial contact with the parents before he, Randall, had got wind of anything happening but the words used in this phone call cast a whole load of doubt on that. It was the kind of message Haines always began with, before saying when, where and how much.
Was this the first contact? If so, how had the Goldmans known not to call the police? It was an interesting question.
Another thing that bothered him was that the Goldmans were not rich, not poor by any means, but compared to Haines’s usual targets they were supremely average.
Whatever way you looked at it, there was a change in the pattern here. So did that mean Haines was changing the rules or changing the game or was there something going on that Randall was missing?
The phone rang again but this time it was Duggan and it took time before Randall could make any sense of what he was saying. The man was ranting, practically screaming down the phone.
‘I got a call saying they were sorry about Patrick but it was my fault. They said I hadn’t learned, had I, said I had two other kids, didn’t I. So I called home to check on everyone. I was going frantic. I tried to get a hold of Joy but her phone kept ringing out and there was no reply and you know what she’s like, always got the damn thing stuck to her ear. And then I got another call. They’ve taken her, Randall. Taken my girl.’
‘Listen to me. Listen. Joy will be all right. We’ll sort it.’
‘Like you did with Patrick?’
‘No, Jimmy, not like Patrick. Your Pat was an accident, collateral damage in a war we’re going to win. We agreed, man, we’re going to wipe the bastards out, take what they’ve—’
‘You think I care abut the money now?’
‘I think you might if I remind you how much.’
‘I want out. I’m going to find my kid. I don’t give a flying fuck for you, your plans or Haines’s blood money. I’m getting out. Now. I’m going to the police.’
‘No, James, I don’t think you are. That would be very foolish. Very weak.’
‘I’m already a fool,’ Duggan said bitterly. ‘I can’t be much more of one. Most stupid thing I ever did was to listen to you. I’ve lost one kid, I’m not going to lose another.’
The phone went dead and Randall studied it for a moment as though it were an artefact of great interest. He crossed to one of the computers, struck a few keys, verified where Duggan was and which of his own people were close enough to intercept. Gave orders to remove him from the game.
‘Weakness,’ he said. He despised weakness. It brought failure and that was something Randall could not abide.
Mac was still in the meeting when Duggan called. His phone was on silent but when he saw the name he signalled that he’d have to take it. He moved to the door, then stopped in the doorway as he listened to a hysterical Duggan.
‘Tell me when and where? Right, I’ll be twenty minutes, half an hour at most.’
He rang off, turned back to face the room.
‘Developments?’ Kendal asked.
‘That was James Duggan. His daughter’s been snatched and he wants to bring us on board. But that’s not all; he reckons he and Randall had some scam going, something about taking Haines for all he’d got. He wasn’t making sense. I’ve arranged a meet.’
Kendal rose to his feet. ‘I’ll go with you. I’ll have back-up standing by, just in case.’
Mac nodded, the hairs on his neck prickled; this was getting more complex by the hour and he didn’t trust Duggan as far as he could spit. Randall even less distance.
‘The DeBarr Hotel,’ he said. ‘Duggan wants to meet us there.’ One day, he reflected, he might actually get to go there for a meal and a drink, something a little less dramatic than his encounters with the place had been so far.