21

‘MAY WE COME in, Miss Ladram?’

It was four o’clock that afternoon and the very last people Charlotte wanted to see were standing on the doorstep of Ockham House: Chief Inspector Golding, eyebrows critically raised as he surveyed her; Detective Constable Finch, elfin and severe; and a third officer whom she recognized, to her surprise, as Chief Inspector Hyslop of the Sussex Police. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Has something … happened?’

‘Nothing to be alarmed about,’ said Golding. ‘We’ll explain inside.’

Dredge had guessed who she was and told the police. They had identified Derek from their recording of his call to her that morning. Somehow, they had deduced what she was planning to do. Or else their visit was a coincidence. With this last thought she fended off her fears as she led the way to the lounge.

‘You must be under a lot of strain,’ remarked Golding, as he moved towards the window, placing himself between her and the light. ‘The eleventh is awfully close.’

‘Yes. It is.’ She turned towards Hyslop, eager to involve him in the conversation if only to prevent Golding dominating it. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Chief Inspector. To what …’

‘I’d have been in touch anyway, Miss,’ Hyslop replied. ‘Peter suggested I accompany him this afternoon.’ He smiled towards Golding. ‘Minimize the disturbance, so to speak.’

‘It’s no disturbance. How have your enquiries into my aunt’s death gone since you re-opened them?’

‘Satisfactorily. Of course, when it all comes out in court, I’m afraid your late brother’s reputation is going to suffer considerable damage.’

‘It will come to court, then? You’ve been able to construct a case against Spicer?’

‘We’ve just had positive results in on some carpet fibres and blood stains found in his car. They link him to the scene of the crime and to the deceased. Since he’s never claimed an alibi, he really has no defence.’

‘Have you charged him?’

‘We plan to – when we find him.’

‘I thought he was under arrest.’

Hyslop grimaced. ‘He was. But we had to release him for lack of hard evidence. That was before the tests on his car were completed. Since then …’

‘He’s done a bunk,’ put in Golding. ‘Probably realized the game was up.’

‘Yes,’ said Hyslop defensively. ‘But we’ll catch him. It’s only a question of time.’

‘As in the matter of your niece’s abduction,’ said Golding. ‘You seem to be coping remarkably well in the circumstances, Miss Ladram.’

‘Well … There’s nothing I can do, is there? There’s nothing anybody can do.’

‘Our enquiries have hit a brick wall, it’s true. That’s why we’re considering a change of tactics.’

‘What sort of change?’

‘One in which we need your assistance.’

‘How can I help?’

‘We have to communicate with the kidnappers, you see. At this late stage, there’s really no alternative. What we propose to do is to run the advert in the International Herald Tribune they spoke to you about. You remember – “Pen pals can be reunited. Orwell will pay”.’

Charlotte’s throat tightened. Golding was looking straight at her, but she could see little of his expression because of the glare from the window behind him. Was he testing her nerve? Was he dropping a far from subtle hint? Or was this merely a sensible proposal born of official desperation? There was no way to tell. ‘I remember,’ she said hoarsely.

‘If and when they respond, they’ll expect to talk to you. At least in the first instance. We can wean them on to a trained negotiator later, of course.’

‘But the advert was to be placed if we were prepared to give them what they want. And we don’t have it.’

‘No.’ He paused and for a moment it was possible to believe he had asked a question rather than stated what he took to be a fact. ‘Well, the idea is for you to imply we do have it. To keep them talking until we can (a) trace the call and (b) persuade them to extend the deadline.’

Charlotte pleaded silently with her voice and eyes not to betray her as she spoke. ‘When … er … do you plan to run the advert?’

‘Saturday.’

It was as much as she could do not to sigh with relief. If Golding had chosen Friday, her own placement of the advertisement would have been bound to come to light. Now there was a slim chance it would not – until it had served its purpose.

‘By leaving it as late as possible,’ Golding continued, ‘we hope to make the kidnappers think we’re giving in to the deadline.’

‘I see.’

‘So, will you help us? Without you, I doubt we’ll be able to keep them talking long enough to accomplish anything.’

‘What does Ursula say?’

‘Mrs Abberley? She’s happy for us to do anything we think may save her daughter.’ His gaze narrowed fractionally. ‘I rather expected you to take the same view.’

‘Oh, I do. I do.’ Her thoughts whirled ahead of her words, shaping and assessing the consequences of Golding’s proposal. She was bound, of course, to agree to it. Therefore, the police would soon be in touch with the International Herald Tribune’s advertising sales office. With luck, nobody there would remember her call – or comment on it if they did. Her advertisement would still appear in the morning. And the kidnappers would see it. But so, sooner or later, would Golding. He would come looking for her. Failing to find her, he would establish whose number had been quoted. The question was whether he would act fast enough to prevent her reaching agreement with the kidnappers on her own account. She did not know the answer. She did not even know whether she would be able to reach such an agreement. But she did know that now, more than ever, she had to try. ‘I’ll help in any way I can, Chief Inspector. Any way at all.’