Chapter 33

The pair of eyes met across the darkened room. One pair had a fierce challenging stare, while the other pair showed complete disinterest. The man behind the latter wasn’t about to enter into a staring contest, in what was the only event that his captive was likely to win. He conceded that win and shifted his gaze to the clock he had placed in the room before he had even seized Camden McAllister. He’d bought it for the pronounced loud tick. He wanted McAllister to not only see, but hear and thus better feel the remaining of moments of his life ebb away. It was not an added torture, merely a way to let McAllister subtly know that every moment mattered. He cast his mind back to what he had lost and how. Precious split seconds that he could not hold back had filled his waking thoughts and his nightmares ever since that time.

McAllister, for his part, had no idea what was driving the man behind this. There was no point in asking, because the man never gave anything away. He couldn’t be bought either. That was clear when he suggested it. The man with no name, for the first time had been provoked and passed a derisive comment, when an offer was made. Then he had gathered himself and virtually conducted the rest of the time that they had spent together in complete silence, broken only by that bloody annoying shit of a clock, McAllister thought.

Camden hoped that the telepathy between twins was not just some psychic mumbo jumbo. There had been times, when he and Ewan were younger, that they both knew what each other was thinking and doing, even though they were well away from each other. It had helped enormously when they were nicking things in their teenage years, because they rarely got caught. Now, he was relying on his brother finding him in the backstreets of a suburb in Cairns. It seemed a strange vain hope when, for all he knew, Ewan was thousands of miles away probably trussed up like he was.

If only Camden had known the truth. Ewan had actually taken a room in one of the plushest hotels in Cairns. He had asked at the desk if they had a house doctor who could come and check his leg, because he was due to have his cast removed. At any other lesser hotel, such a request would have been met with a look of disdain and he would have been directed to a local GP. However, expensive hotels don’t work that way. Arrangements were made and soon a doctor arrived and looked at Ewan lying uncomfortably on the bed. Ewan had used the time to remove the dressings on his face and touch up some of the makeup. Ewan spun the semi-implausible story of the possible greenstick fracture from the accident weeks before and then of his desire to go snorkelling. The doctor was charging well over the usual fee so he wasn’t fussed about the veracity of the story. Carefully he broke the plaster after gently slicing it with a sharp blade. Some more cutting and the cast was free. The doctor knew that the cast wasn’t weeks old and that there wasn’t any sign of any damage to the leg. He wondered whether it was just a prank that had gone wrong, but that was usually done by uni students or men at a bucks’ party to the groom. It didn’t matter. There was no point in asking questions. As long as he was paid that was perfect. The payment was in cash as he had requested and Ewan peeled off some of the freshly printed notes he had swapped for his pounds at the airport. Money used to be the driving force in both his and his brother’s lives. Now Ewan saw it just as a means to an end. In this case the end was all about finding his brother alive and then exacting revenge.

Ewan McAllister wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do now that he was in Cairns. It was unfamiliar territory. He had no contacts and any that his brother had could be compromised. For all he knew his brother’s house and the warehouse could be under surveillance by the police. He had no option. He knew his brother would have kept nothing in his house and any information was under lock and key in the same set up he had in Inverness. He had to get into the warehouse. He had to find out what had happened. He had to know what the police knew. However, if his brother was taken from the warehouse, there was likely to be video footage somewhere. If the police had seized the footage from the warehouse, then there were always some other CCTV cameras at other factories nearby. Slowly a plan formed in his head. He needed to hire a van and a sign writer who could mock up a stick-on logo on his truck in double quick time. Ewan was the creative one of the brothers. He had designed the logos and packaging on the scotch and cartons. He pulled out his laptop and set to work. Tomorrow his plan would be put into action.

Much further south of Ewan’s hotel, in Sarge and Sarah’s hideaway, people were scattered everywhere. The twins were curled up on a trundle bed in Katie’s room, Eloise was asleep in her nursery. Katie was hectoring her mother about the fact that she wasn’t sleepy, but her yawns weren’t adding much to her case. Michelle and Liz were chatting with Amelia and Jess on the couch in the living room. Sarah was in the kitchen firmly laying down the law to her daughter while finishing the salads. Donald, like Amelia and Liz, had gained his second wind after a long nap and was out on the deck chatting with Nat and Sarge while Sarge did his best to master the art of barbequing without burning. Nat decided enough was enough and suggested that Sarge take Donald along the beach to see the extent of Sarge’s own little piece of paradise. He then stepped in and rescued what might have been burnt offerings in a few more minutes. Sarah saw the manoeuvre and mouthed a thank you to Nat.

Ten minutes later, all the adults had gathered on the deck watching the last rays of the sunset behind them tingeing the clouds out to sea in light pink. Dinner was served as a smorgasbord and people helped themselves while Sarge made sure all glasses were charged. Donald and Amelia stared at the array of tropical fruit and didn’t know where to start. The fillets of fresh fish, Nat had caught when he returned with Jess looked mouth-watering, more so than the seaweed that Sarge had managed to hook and that now lay discarded on the pristine white sand.

Once the first serves of the meal were consumed, many went back for seconds and the topic of conversation inevitably came around to the kidnapping. Jess, Sarah and Michelle could have easily become bored, but all were in relationships with police and actually enjoyed the difficulties that this case in particular, had thrown up. The biggest point of discussion was about the kidnapper’s motives. Amelia and Donald were a bit reticent to discuss things in front of non-police officers, but when Sarge pointed out that Jess was a forensic psychiatrist and had a degree in criminology as well, that changed their minds.

Everyone knew that they were second guessing when they threw up ideas, but no-one shot any of these down in flames. It seemed that nothing was too improbable. The motive many felt wasn’t money because a lot more could be asked for and there was no sense in kidnapping two people when one would have served the purpose just as well, if not better. It seemed unlikely that there was a takeover in play. Two dead bodies were a far simpler solution. Had the twins been blackmailing someone who decided to fight back? That was considered possible and maybe they already had the kidnapper in custody; although that didn’t square with the posting of the ransom notes.

Jess had said little while this was going on. Then she asked what were the usual motives for murder or kidnapping. It was Nat who rattled them off, much to Sarge’s surprise. “The ones we focus on are usually: revenge, jealousy, thrill killing, love, profit, hate, and trying to cover up a crime. All of those are in play here, but some don’t seem to match. I mean if we had to rank them, I’d suggest that someone has it in for the twins and what they are doing, so hate and revenge would be near the top. Is the kidnapper doing it because he can, and gets a thrill out of it? Seems unlikely. It is very complicated and would have taken a lot of planning to snatch the two of them, but maybe the plan is to try to fool the police.”

Sarge interrupted, “I don’t think fooling the police is the case because the list of names he gave, actually helped us. From what I understand, love is not a motive. The McAllister boys from all accounts, particularly Miss Fields’ account, have shied away from that all their lives. That probably hits jealousy on the head too, although someone could be envious of the money they had….”

Donald piped up, “But they appeared to have no money. They didn’t flaunt their wealth at all and their companies barely made a profit according to their financial records.”

Liz asked, “So what have we got left? Just profit and covering up some other crime. We have already kicked out profit because it doesn’t seem like a takeover was in the offing and as for covering up some crime, well, these two men are doing something just short of murder with what they are selling. They would be the ones who would be doing the kidnapping and murder to protect themselves.”

Michelle had remained tight lipped in her chair, feeling she was not qualified to express an opinion. Sarge turned to her and said, “Michelle, we’ve only just met, but as the rest of us are police officers or pseudo crime investigators,” and he nodded to Jess and Sarah, “What do you think? Some of us are too involved in this and can’t see the wood for the trees.”

Michelle paused and her eyes darted towards Liz as if seeking approval to speak. Liz just grinned and raised her glass saying, “When all else fails we always ask a sane person and you are the most qualified here in that area.”

‘I think,” Michelle began hesitantly, “That someone wants to get even with them for something they did or he thinks they did. They were selling drugs, dangerous ones and not just to a certain group of people from what you have said. It could be anyone who wants to get back at them. But for that level of hate and revenge, I would say that the kidnapper has lost a family member or a close friend because of what they were doing. Anyway, that’s what I think.”

Amelia nodded her agreement and her logical thinking brain kicked into gear. “This would have taken years of work. Firstly, to possibly identify the brothers as the root cause of the problem because they were so well hidden from view as suppliers and distributors of the drugs. And secondly, to develop and execute this plan. This wasn’t a quick act of revenge. Our problem now is to sort the wheat from the chaff or as we say in Inverness, the alcohol from the barley. There may have been a death, either here in or in Scotland, that the kidnapper is blaming the brothers for. If we find out who died, we may find the identity of the kidnapper.”

“That’s a huge ask. How many drug related deaths have there been in the last three years?” Nat asked.

“Lots, but there will also be some deaths of innocent people killed by drug offenders you need to add into the mix,” Amelia added.

“Well at least we know what our whizz kid computer gurus will be doing tomorrow, won’t we Donald?” Sarge stated and passed around some pavlova to his Scottish friends, “This delightful dessert was named after Ivan Pavlov who did something special with dogs, I think.”

Sarge was slowing down in his old age and the overripe mango that Sarah threw at him left an orange stain on his forehead.