A Driven Woman

and then…’ ‘I’m not using the bike.’ ‘What? But…’ ‘I’m not riding one of those damn machines. I’ll use theRange Rover.’ ‘But the kidnappers said…’ ‘I know what they said. But I’m using the car.’ ‘Look, this won’t work. They said you’d receive instructionsas you went along. That means they plan to use the two-wayradio fitted in Martin’s helmet.’ ‘So I’ll wear the helmet in the car.’ ‘But they specified a trails bike. That means they’re going totake you off-road.’ ‘The Range Rover is quite capable of driving off-road,’Rattigan told her stolidly. ‘Well yes, but it still can’t go the places a bike can. Theymay want you to go along narrow tracks and….’ ‘Spoiling your plans, am I?’ Rattigan asked her nastily. Sam threw her hands in the air with frustration. ‘For Heav-en’s sake! Will you get it through your thick head that this hasnothing to do with me.’ ‘So you say. But my nephew went missing whilst in yourcare. On one of your bikes. And then the kidnappers sent theirmessages through your office. Why would they do that?’ ‘I don’t know. But right now what we need to concentrate onis getting Martin back. And if you start messing them aroundthat isn’t going to happen. So use the damn bike, for God’ssake.’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not? You can ride one. I know you can: you told uswhen we had tea at the Manor. You rode a bike when you wereyounger. Why not now?’ Rattigan stared at her in stony silence. ‘All right then. Let me go in your place. They may not like 100

it, but at least I’ll be able to deliver the money and get Martinback.’ Rattigan gave a hollow laugh. ‘Do you really imagine I’d letyou ride off with half a million pounds? That would make it allso much easier for you, wouldn’t it?’ Exasperated, Sam appealed to her assistant. ‘Jezz. Talk tothis man. Try to get him to see sense. We don’t have time forall this.’ ‘Hey man. She’s right, y’know? These blokes, if they seeyou in a car, well, they’re gonna think you’ve got half a dozencops stashed behind the back seat. They won’t go for it.’ ‘You seem to be very good at thinking like a kidnapper.Perhaps you’re in on this too?’ ‘Fuck you man! You say that again and I’ll put tyre tracksacross your forehead!’ ‘Jezz!’ Sam interrupted quickly. ‘Thank you for that. That’sdefinitely helped the situation. Now just get the radio equip-ment ready, will you? I’ll talk to Mr Rattigan.’ Taking a deep breath to steady her pounding heart she turnedonce more to Rattigan. ‘Thomas, listen to me please. I know you’re worried out ofyour mind about Martin, but you’ve got to see that it’s affect-ing your judgement. Jezz and I aren’t your enemies. We’re justtrying to help. You’ve got to follow the instructions to the letteror your chances of seeing Martin alive again are….well, you’vejust got to get on that bike.’ ‘I can’t.’ ‘Aargh!’ Sam cried in exasperation, then walked awayand paced a short distance up and down the drive, the gravelcrunching under her boots. She stopped and stared across themanicured lawns, her eyes blind but her mind full of images ofa young man lying bound and gagged in a cellar somewhere.She turned and marched back to Rattigan, who had stoodunmoving throughout, and locked him with her eyes. 101

‘Look, I know you can ride a bike. You have one in yourgarage. I’ve seen it.’ She saw his eyes jump with shock. His expression, alreadytense, became harder. For a moment Sam thought he was about to attack her again.Unable to prevent herself, she took a small step backwards,her muscles tensed for flight. But Rattigan appeared to havecontrolled his surge of anger. He gazed at her without speak-ing for several long seconds then seemed to make his mind upabout something. ‘Come with me,’ he commanded. ‘You!’ He turned to Jezz.‘Stay here.’ ‘Yessir!’ Jezz muttered sourly, throwing Rattigan a mockingsalute which ended with the middle digit extended in the air. The anger and frustration that was already raging in Sam’smind was now joined by curiosity as Rattigan led the way tothe garage and unlocked the heavy padlock. With unnecessaryforce, he swung the up-and-over door out of the way, its coun-ter-weights thudding dully against the concrete floor. The interior was dim but Sam could see, at the very rear ofthe otherwise empty garage, a bundled shape under a tarpaulin.With swift strides Rattigan crossed the garage and gripped thetarpaulin, looking back over his shoulder as he gave it a vicioustug. Sam stared. The bike was, as she had correctly surmised,a 1974 Honda 750 four. She remembered now how she hadthought that it could be valuable if it were in good condition. This bike was worthless. The front wheel was a mass of twisted metal and rubberbent around the front forks, which themselves stuck out at rightangles to their proper position. The headlamp was smashed,the handlebars grotesquely misshapen, the petrol tank heavilydented. The whole front end of the bike was badly rusted andcovered with years of dust. 102

The sight brought back a memory Sam had wilfully forgot-ten; her father’s racing bike being loaded onto its trailer, theworst of the damage hidden from view by a tarpaulin not unlikethis one, while her father’s broken body, injuries similarlyhidden under a heavy red blanket, was loaded into the ambu-lance. Tears sprang into her eyes and a sob caught in her throat.Rattigan, who had been watching her reaction closely, wastaken aback by her sudden distress and his expression softenedfor a moment. ‘I was riding this bike,’ he said heavily, ‘the day I killed mysister.’ ‘I was twenty-one at the time, a young man just out ofUniversity and in love with fast boats and fast bikes.’ They were sitting in Rattigan’s study. The broken bikewas safely padlocked in the garage once more and Sam hadinstructed Jezz to return to the shop and wait there for her.Rattigan was sitting in his leather armchair, staring at the emptyfireplace as he told his sad tale. His parents had died when he was young and his only livingrelative was a sister, five years his elder, with whom he hadbeen in the habit of spending the summer holidays. She hadmarried young, a man seven years her senior. They were delir-iously happy and the birth of their first child, a boy whom theychristened Martin, had seemed like confirmation of their love. Her husband’s death before the child’s first birthday haddevastated her. For two years while Thomas was at University she had livedalone, seldom even leaving the house, clinging to her little boyand the memory of her dead husband. When Thomas came to stay with her that year of his grad-uation, he arrived in style on his new treasure, the Honda. Hissister came to the front door to welcome him home and it was 103

the first time he’d seen her smile in two long years. ‘Hop on, Sis. I’ll take you for a spin,’ he told her. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she laughed back, blushing at the verythought. ‘I’m a respectable widow. What would the neighboursthink?’ ‘Who cares?’ he cried, delighted with the impression he’dmade and determined to induce more laughter from his sister.‘Come on. I won’t enter the house until you come for a ridewith me.’ ‘But what about Martin?’ ‘Leave him with the neighbours,’ he had said, unwilling tobe dissuaded, and in the end his infectious good humour hadgot the better of his sister’s common sense. ‘The accident was my fault.’ Rattigan gazed levelly at Sam. ‘I was a bad rider. Oh, I couldhandle the bike well enough, but I drove too fast, took toomany risks. I was a danger to myself and others.’ Tears stood out in his eyes as he went on. ‘I was travellingtoo fast. I tried to overtake a lorry. There was a bus coming theother way…’ His voice cracked and he stopped talking, swallowing hardand blinking the tears from his eyes. Once more he tried tospeak but his voice came out as a croak and he had to clear histhroat before he could continue. ‘She died without ever regaining consciousness. I waspretty knocked about myself, but I lived and she died.’ Hiseyes burned as he added through twisted lips, ‘If there was anyjustice in this world, it would have been the other way around.’ ‘Oh God, Thomas. I’m so sorry. It must have been terriblefor you. I…’ ‘No!’ he barked so suddenly that Sam jumped. ‘I don’t wantyour sympathy. I don’t deserve it. I killed my sister and madeher son an orphan. For that I deserve only scorn. That rustinghulk out there is my shame. It goes where I go, to ensure that I 104

never forget.’ ‘But you’ve looked after him haven’t you?’ Sam said, hervoice almost pleading. ‘He’s your ward isn’t he?’ Rattigan nodded. ‘Yes. I became his legal guardian. I sworeon my sister’s grave that I’d devote my life to bringing him up,seeing him safe and successful in this world. ‘ ‘And you’ve done a good job. He’s a lovely boy. And heseemed so happy when I last saw him….’ Sam stumbled to ahalt, realising the stupidity of what she was saying. The lovelyboy she was talking about was right now held captive some-where, perhaps even dead. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry…’ ‘I told you, I don’t want your pity, or your apologies. I wantmy nephew back. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get him. SoI’ll play your game. I have the money. I’ll do whatever youorder, but I won’t get on that infernal machine, do you under-stand? You can’t make me do that!’ Sam watched the hatred in the man’s eyes, her own emotionsconfused; anger at his false accusations; sympathy for his loss,so much like her own; hatred for the men who had done this tohim. ‘All right then,’ she told him decisively. ‘You won’t ride thebike and you won’t let me ride it alone. So we’ll go together.I’ll drive and you ride pillion.’ He watched her steadily for a moment, the suspicion plain inhis eyes. ‘That’s not exactly following their instructions either,is it?’ ‘No but it’s a damn sight better than you turning up in ahulking great four wheel drive. Now let’s get ready. You’resupposed to be three miles from here in fifteen minutes.’ * 105

14 The road here ran straight for almost a mile. To the left wasa long rising slope, criss crossed with hedges and dotted withsheep. To the right was a pine forest, the trees planted in longrows, darkness thick between them. ‘They’re almost certainly watching us right now,’ Sam saidinto her intercom. ‘Checking we’re not being followed. Theycould be anywhere. Up on that hill or somewhere in thosetrees.’ Silence met her comments. Before setting out they hadagreed how the communications were to work. Sam waswearing the helmet with the other half of the headset she hadused with Martin. Through this she would be able to both hearand talk with the kidnapper. Rattigan’s helmet had been hastilyequipped with headphones so he could hear both sides of anyconversation that took place, but he had no microphone. Sam kept her speed at a steady forty miles per hour. Thekidnappers had described a circuit some five miles long thatshe was to follow until they contacted her. They had completedthe circuit twice now and Sam was beginning to worry. ‘Rattigan?’ A man’s voice rasped in her ears. ‘Yes?’ Sam replied. ‘Who the hell’s this?’ the man barked. ‘Why are there two ofyou? We said he was to come alone.’ ‘This is Sam Berkley. Mr Rattigan doesn’t ride. He’s on thepillion. I’m ready to follow your instructions.’ 106

A hiss of static met her explanation. They’re thinking it over,she thought. God, what if they don’t like it? What if they justmelt away without another word? ‘Hello?’ she called into her microphone. ‘I’m waiting foryour instructions.’ More silence followed. Sam could feel the tension in theman behind her. One arm was wrapped around her waist and itclenched more tightly as the voice sounded once more. ‘Take the next left. It’s coming up in about half a mile.’ Sam let out her breath in a long sigh of relief and slowedfor the corner. The road was a winding lane leading, she knew,deeper into the farming country around Westfield. She tried to picture the area in her mind, wondering wherethe kidnappers might be taking them, but the whole area wasa maze of little roads like this one. They could be headinganywhere. She would just have to wait and see. ‘In a minute you’ll cross a cattle grid. Take a right just pastthe old cottage.’ Sam obeyed. The instructions came at intervals for the nextfive minutes, leading them further and further from the village.When they had covered more than ten miles, she began to peerinto her mirror whenever they ascended rising ground. There! A flash of chrome a mile back along the road they’djust traveled. A motor bike. Of course! She should have expect-ed that. The radio only had a range of a couple of miles. Thekidnappers would need to be mobile to keep giving her direc-tions. For a further fifteen minutes Sam followed the instructionsin her headset, catching a glimpse every now and then of thebike behind. Whoever it was knew enough to stay well back, atthe limits of reception. ‘Half a mile ahead is a farm track on your right. You need tostart slowing now. The entrance is concealed on the apex of abend.’ 107

Sam throttled back, dropping her speed to barely fifteenmiles an hour, until she spotted the entrance. ‘Turn off the road and continue up the track,’ the voice toldher. So I was right about the trails bike, she thought with grimsatisfaction. Now we get dirty. The ground below her wheels was deeply rutted, but theclay soil had been baked hard by the recent sun. Carefully Sammaneuvered the bike along the verge of the path, avoidingthe deepest of the ruts. The track rose over a low hill and thendipped into a small valley. As she crested the rise she caughta glimpse of the bike behind, turning off the road and follow-ing them up the track. The narrow lane was rising once more,climbing steeply up the side of a long hill with trees on thesummit. ‘The track ends at a five bar gate,’ the voice told her. ‘Thegate is propped open. Continue through into the woods. Keepyour speed down to twenty miles an hour. There’s a narrowtrack through the undergrowth. Follow that until you come to aclearing, then stop.’ A click sounded in her ears and she guessed that the manhad switched his mike off. End of the road, she told herself. Iwonder how Thomas is getting on back there? With surprise, she realised that she had totally forgotten herpassenger on the long drive. You could tell he’d ridden bikes:he knew how to lean with the bike. Most novices tried to leanthe wrong way, to stay upright, making things very difficult forthe driver, but Rattigan was a good passenger. The heavy undergrowth whipped her legs as she followedwhat was clearly only meant to be a footpath. Several timesshe had to duck low to avoid overhanging branches. After ahundred yards the path emerged into a clearing. Sam haltedthe bike and gingerly leaned it on its rest, pausing a moment toensure that the soil was firm enough to hold its weight. She felt 108

Rattigan clamber off the back with a grunt. He must be feelingpretty stiff, she thought. Nimbly she followed, taking herhelmet off and swiping her hair with her familiar gesture. ‘What happens now?’ Rattigan grunted, and she wassurprised to find the sound of his voice re-assuring after twentyminutes of hearing nothing but the cold, mechanical orders inher ears. ‘They’re following us. On a bike. They should be here at anymoment.’ As if on cue, a powerful trails bike roared into the clearingand as it did so, a man wheeled a second bike out from the treesbehind them. He propped the bike on its stand and pointed ashotgun at them. Both men wore black leather jackets and trou-sers. Their faces were obscured by brightly coloured helmets,one red the other blue. The rider who had been following them, the one wearing theblue helmet, stopped his bike ten feet away but left the enginerunning. ‘Give us the money’ he shouted, his voice muffled bythe full face helmet. ‘Where’s my nephew?’ Rattigan called back, his voice strongand commanding. ‘Give us the money!’ the man repeated. ‘Not until I see my nephew!’ The two men exchanged a quick glance, then blue-helmetshouted again. ‘You’ll get the boy when you give us the money.Now throw it over here.’ ‘No!’ The man in the red helmet raised the shotgun to his shoulderand aimed it at Rattigan. The other man shouted again. ‘Giveus the fucking bag or we’ll blow your head off and take it.’ Rattigan moved so quickly that Sam barely had time tosqueal as his hand whipped around her throat and she wasdrawn tightly against him, her body held between him and theman with the shotgun. Something cold and hard was forced up 109

under her jaw. ‘Fucking hell! He’s got a knife!’ ‘Correct. And if you don’t tell me where my nephew is, I’llcut her throat.’ Even though the two men’s faces were hidden behind theirhelmets, Sam could sense their bafflement. Then blue-helmetlet out a harsh bark of laughter. ‘Who gives a fuck!’ he roared. ‘I mean it,’ Rattigan warned him. ‘I get my nephew backright now, or your pretty little leader here gets hurt.’ ‘Leader? What the fuck are you on man? Now drop the knifeand give us that bag or my mate will blow you away.’ ‘You won’t take the chance of hurting her,’ Rattigan calledback confidently. Sam writhed in his grasp, the arm around her neck chokingher, but she managed to cry, ‘Thomas! You’re making amistake. I’ve got nothing to do with this.’ ‘Be quiet!’ he roared in her ear, tightening his grip until shegasped. ‘Sod this for a lark!’ blue-helmet shouted, and signalled hispartner. The roar of the shotgun was stunningly loud in the stillsummer air. Sam saw the flash then a searing bolt of pain shotthrough her side. She felt herself falling. Through the roaring of blood in her brain she heard shoutsand then, some time later, the sound of engines, loud at firstthen receding into the distance. * 110

15 ‘They shot you!’ Rattigan’s stunned face hovered above her, framed by acanopy of branches. Sam stared back stupidly, unable to understand what hadhappened. Why was Rattigan standing so close? His face wasalmost touching hers. She could see every pore in his skin. Thedeep tan had turned an unhealthy-looking yellow colour, likethe skin of a man suffering from jaundice. His dark eyes lookedalmost black, sunk way back into their deeply shadowedsockets. A trickle of bright red blood ran across his temple,following the deep creases in his brow. ‘They shot you!’ he repeated in disbelief. ‘But why…?’ ‘Mmmph. Gerrof,’ Sam grunted. She could feel a hugeweight pressing her down all along her right side and in herbefuddled state she thought Rattigan was lying on top of her.Why was this man whom she hardly knew, didn’t even like,lying on top of her? Why was he pressing his face so close tohers? Rape? Was she being raped? The thought seared into her brain like a red hot needle andshe opened her mouth to scream, but as she drew air into herlungs, a bolt of pain shot through her expanding ribcage. Shegave a muffled cry and Rattigan’s eyes snapped into focus. ‘Sam, listen. You’ve been shot,’ he told her. You’re bleedingall down your right side. I don’t think it’s bad. He was usingbuckshot by the looks of it. But we need to get you to a hospi- 111

tal. Do you understand?’ Sam peered up at the worried face and tried to get herthoughts under control. Shot? She’d been shot? But ho…? Wait a minute. There’dbeen the man on a bike. Two men. One had a shotgun. Andthen….blank. But she’d been shot. She nodded weakly at Ratti-gan to show she understood and he gave a sigh of relief. ‘Can you ride the bike?’ he asked. ‘Ride?’ ‘You have to ride the bike. We need to get you to a hospital.Do you understand? I’ve tried my mobile, but there’s no recep-tion out here.’ Sam nodded again. ‘Hospital,’ she mumbled. ‘That’s right,’ Rattigan said gently, his tone encouraging.‘Look, just lie there for a moment. I’ll try to bandage you up abit then we’ll get you onto the bike.’ Sam nodded and closed her eyes wearily. She opened themagain when Rattigan began to shake her shoulders. ‘Wh’t?’ shegroaned. ‘You passed out for a while. I’ve done what I can to stop thebleeding but we need to get going. I’m going to try to get youon your feet, all right?’ Gently he raised her to a sitting position, his strong armaround her shoulders. The right side of her body had becomenumb. Dazedly she looked around the little clearing. Eveningwas falling and the light was rapidly fading beneath the trees. With surprisingly little effort, Rattigan half-pulled, half-lift-ed Sam to her feet, but as she tried to take her own weight,her right leg buckled and Rattigan had to grab her to stop herfalling. Leaning heavily on his shoulder, his arm wrappedaround her waist, they stumbled over to the bike. Sam looked at the machine as though seeing it for the firsttime. She thought of the miles they had come, the twistingroads, the heavily rutted paths. She shook her head. ‘I can’t 112

ride,’ she muttered. ‘You have to!’ Rattigan said forcefully. ‘Can’t,’ Sam shook her head again. ‘Can’t use the brakes.’ Rattigan stared at the bike as realisation dawned. Even ifSam could stay on the bike she’d never be able to manage thebrakes. The front brake was operated by a lever on the rightside of the handlebars, the rear brake by a foot pedal on theright side of the bike. Both her right arm and leg were bleedingfrom a dozen points. It was impossible. ‘Damn!’ Rattigan cursed. He stared around wildly as Sam hung from his shoulder. ‘All right,’ he said suddenly, his voice sounding harsh andangry. ‘I’ll drive. Do you think you can hang on? I can’t leaveyou here. God knows how long it will take to get help. I don’teven know where we are.’ Pain was beginning to seep into Sam’s consciousness as timeand the cold air washed away the stupor of shock. Wincing, sheallowed herself to be helped onto the pillion seat then Rattiganclimbed awkwardly onto the front seat, the whole operationmade harder by the need for him to support Sam throughout, toprevent her tumbling off. Gingerly Rattigan took hold of the handlebars as though hewere grasping the horns of an enraged bull. He paused for amoment as though having second thoughts, then reared up andgave the kick start a violent push. The engine roared into lifeand he revved the throttle several times, then let it settle downto a deep, steady throb. ‘Hold me as tightly as you can,’ he called over his shoulder.Sam linked her hands and tightened her grip as far as she could,but the fingers of her right hand were still numb. With a jerk, the bike lurched forward as Rattigan let out theclutch and they began to rattle along the rough path out of thewoods. They had gone no further than fifty metres when Samfelt her hands slip and her body began to topple backwards. 113

She cried out and felt the bike shudder to a halt. Rattigan’shand closed on her forearm and held her tightly while shefought for balance. Panting, she flopped against his leather-cladback. ‘I can’t do it’ she moaned. ‘All right. We’ll have to think of something else.’ Rattigan was silent for a moment as he thought. Waves ofnausea swept over Sam as the pain in her side intensified. ‘I have an idea,’ he told her. Quickly he removed the beltfrom his waistband. ‘Put your arms around me again,’ hecommanded. ‘Cross them over, like this.’ Carefully he positioned Sam’s arms around his waist, so thather forearms lay alongside each other, her hands grasping theinsides of her elbows. Then he wrapped the heavy leather beltaround them several times and fastened the buckle. By the timehe had finished Sam couldn’t have moved her arms if she’dwanted to. ‘Right. You won’t fall off at least,’ he said with grim satis-faction. ‘Just try to stay awake. I’ll need directions.’ For Sam, the next half hour was a waking nightmare. Asthey bounced down the long farm track her body swung fromside to side, restrained only by the strap around her wrists.Each time they hit a pothole she grunted with pain. Her facewas pressed against Rattigan’s broad back, the leather belowher cheek wet with smeared blood. Twice her right foot slipped from the foot rest, her heavymotorcycle boot dragging briefly along the ground until sheforced her muscles to contract and drag the foot back up again. It was a relief when they turned off the little track onto thesmooth tarmac of the road. She felt Rattigan open the throttleand they began to gain speed. As they approached the nextjunction he turned his head and shouted something at her thatshe couldn’t hear. Damn! He had no microphone in his helmet. ‘Left!’ Sam shouted back. Then she remembered there was 114

no need to shout. She had the microphone in her own helmet.She repeated her instruction in a more normal tone of voice.‘Take the left here, and then right at the next junction.’ They were moving fast now, the hedges zipping past in ablur as Sam stared woodenly to the side, unable to raise herhead. Once or twice she passed out, coming round only whenRattigan stopped the bike at a junction and turned around toshake her awake. After what seemed an eternity, she became aware of streetlights flashing past and cars parked at the side of the road. Thehospital wasn’t far now. Rattigan had probably seen the signs,the big friendly H that indicated that help was at hand. Samallowed her eyes to close then opened them abruptly when shefelt the leather belt around her wrists, which had been growingprogressively loser throughout the journey, slip away. Desperately she groped with her good left hand, grasping herright sleeve with wind-numbed fingers, but the leather was slip-pery with blood. With fatalistic clarity, she felt herself fallingfrom the bike. * 115

16 ‘You were lucky,’ the doctor told her, smiling down in thatreassuring way that medical staff have, the way someonewho hasn’t just been involved in a horrific accident smiles atsomeone who has. ‘I don’t feel lucky,’ Sam told him and his smile widened. ‘Oh but you were, on almost every count. We pulled morethan a hundred pieces of buckshot out of you and not one hadhit a vital organ. Barely penetrated the flesh in fact. You lostquite a bit of blood of course, but no major arteries were cut.It’s fortunate that you were wearing your leather clothes. Toughstuff, leather. That, and the fact that he was using buckshot,saved your life.’ ‘I fell off the bike,’ Sam remembered. ‘Mmm. So I heard. But you were lucky again. You fell offright outside the doors of the hospital here. The bike was prac-tically stationery. Added a few more bruises to the total, butagain, no permanent damage.’ ‘How is Thomas? The man who brought me in.’ ‘Mr Rattigan is fine. I pulled a few pieces of buckshot outof him but he’s up and walking about already. He was evenluckier than you. It could have been a very nasty accident.’ ‘Accident?’ The doctor gave her a curious look. ‘That’s right. It was anaccident…wasn’t it?’ Sam shook her head blearily. ‘I…I don’t remember. I just 116

saw the flash of the gun and then there was this huge explosionand….it’s all very hazy.’ The doctor watched her steadily. ‘Hmm. Well perhaps yourmemory will be better in the morning. There’s a couple ofpolicemen who would like to speak with you. I told them youwouldn’t be up to answering questions this evening. They saidthey’d come back in the morning.’ Sam nodded uncertainly, her mind reeling. The police! Ofcourse, they’d be involved now. A woman is admitted to hospi-tal with shotgun wounds - they’d want to know what’s goingon. What would Rattigan have told them? Would he admit thathis nephew had been kidnapped? Would he take the chanceof letting the police get involved at this stage? The doctor hadmentioned an accident; had Thomas made up some story? OhGod, what would she tell the policemen in the morning? The doctor was still speaking and she forced her mind toconcentrate on what he was saying. ‘…a popular young woman. I have a corridor full of peoplewaiting to see you. I’ve told them you won’t be seeing anyvisitors tonight but they seem determined to stay. One youngman in particular has been causing a bit of a scene. He’s very…persistent… and he’s upset several of the nurses with his courselanguage. I’d have had him removed by security, but as he’sdisabled….’ ‘Oh God. Jezz!’ ‘Personally I’d recommend you rest now but….’ ‘No, it’s okay. I’ll see him,’ Sam told him. ‘I’m feelingokay.’ The doctor continued to look doubtful but, turning to thenurse, he said, ‘Tell the young man in the wheelchair that hecan speak to Miss Hayward for five minutes. Five, you under-stand? No more. Then if he refuses to leave, call security. Theothers will have to come back in the morning.’ Tiredly, Sam closed her eyes for a moment but opened them 117

again as Jezz entered the room. The tyres of his wheelchairsqueaked on the linoleum as he negotiated his way across thetight little room to her bedside. Despite her tiredness, Sam wasglad to see his big face, looking for once unusually grim. ‘Hi Jezz,’ she said. ‘Hi. They told me I couldn’t see you tonight. I told them togo fuck themselves.’ Sam smiled. She could imagine what the nurse’s face musthave looked like. It was saying something for Jezz’s force ofpersonality that she had relented. Nurses were used to havingtheir ‘no’s’ respected. ‘I ain’t staying long,’ he continued. ‘I just wanted you toknow, if I ever get my hands on those fuckers I’ll cut their….’ ‘Thanks,’ Sam said quickly. ‘Jezz. I’m going to be in herefor a couple of days I think. Look after the business for me willyou?’ ‘Yeah. Sure. No problem.’ ‘Thanks. I knew I could trust you.’ An odd expression flickered across the biker’s big red face.For a moment he looked as though he might say something,then he spun his chair and headed for the door. ‘I’ll tell themother buggers to piss off home, eh?’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Who’s still out there?’ Sam asked. ‘Some of the lads, and that snooty bitch, you know, the onewith all them dead husbands.’ ‘Cynthia? Her ex-husbands didn’t die. She divorced them.’ ‘Whatever. I’ll tell ‘em yer knackered. They can come backtomorrow.’ ‘Yes. Thanks again Jezz. I’ll see you in a couple of days,okay?’ For thirty seconds she held her breath, waiting to seewhether the door would swing open again, but Jezz appeared tohave accomplished what the nurse had failed to do. Gratefullyshe closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. 118

The room was dark when she opened her eyes. A hand wasshaking her gently by the shoulder. Rattigan’s worried facelooked down at her. A sudden surge of emotion ran throughSam, relief at seeing him safe, then anger as the image cameto mind of his arm around her neck, the glittering blade at herthroat. Then anger gave way to compassion for this man whosenephew had been abducted. ‘What time is it?’ Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from hereyes. ‘It’s the middle of the night,’ Rattigan whispered back. ‘Idon’t have long. The night nurse is making tea. I’m in a wardjust along the corridor. I had to see you before you talk with thepolice.’ ‘Do they know about the kidnapping?’ ‘No. I considered telling them, but I decided it was toodangerous. I don’t want to panic the kidnappers.’ ‘But they have their money now. Won’t they just releaseMartin?’ Rattigan’s face took on a strange, tight expression. ‘Theydon’t have the money,’ he told her. ‘What do you mean? Didn’t they take the bag?’ ‘Oh yes. They took it. But it was empty. Just stuffed withnewspaper.’ ‘But you said…?’ ‘I know. But that’s when I thought you were in on it.’ ‘Oh God. What do you think they’ll do now?’ Rattigan shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’llcontact us again, set up another meeting. We just have to waitand see.’ ‘But maybe the police could…’ ‘No police!’ he said forcefully, and Sam was so shocked bythe sound of his voice that she took her first real look at hisface. It was unnaturally pale and his hair was untidy. A largesticking plaster covered half of one temple and another was 119

located on the back of one hand. ‘We’ll get him back,’ she said with more conviction thanshe felt. ‘They’ve no reason to harm him. We’ll pay them themoney and they’ll let him go.’ ‘Perhaps,’ he said, his eyes bleak. ‘Or perhaps they’ll decideto cover their tracks.’ He looked away then, apparently overcome with emotion.Sam wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him it wouldall be right, but she knew a man like Rattigan would prefer tomaintain his dignity. After a moment he turned back to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice hollow. ‘About…the knife…doubting you. I was so sure…’ ‘I know,’ Sam said quickly. ‘I’d probably have thought thesame if things had been reversed. Let’s not say anything moreabout it.’ ‘No,’ he said solemnly. ‘That’s not good enough. I owe youmore than an apology. It’s my fault you got shot. If I hadn’tbeen holding you in front of me….! Dear God! I was using youas a shield! How can you ever forgive me for that? How can Iforgive myself?’ Sam shook her head calmly. ‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘You savedmy life, getting me to hospital before I bled to death. We’reeven.’ Rattigan continued to stare bleakly at the white sheet whichcovered Sam, shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘No,’he repeated. ‘We’re not even. But I’ll make this up to you.Somehow.’ ‘You rode the bike,’ Sam said softly, to change the subject. ‘I did, didn’t I?’ He seemed surprised, as though the thoughthadn’t occurred to him. ‘Now,’ Sam said, becoming business-like. ‘What do youwant me to tell the police? 120

‘Good morning, Ms Hayward. I’m Detective InspectorCollins and this is Detective Sergeant Truman. The doctor tellsme you’re up to answering a few questions. I promise we won’tkeep you too long. Mr Rattigan has already given us a very fulldescription of the events leading up to last night’s incident. Wejust need you to confirm a few points and see if you can addanything. Okay?’ Sam nodded. ‘Now, we understand you had expressed an interest in learn-ing how to shoot, and Mr Rattigan offered to teach you, is thatcorrect?’ ‘Yes, that’s right.’ ‘And you decided that the best place for this shooting lessonto take place was in the old quarry?’ ‘Yes. I thought it would be a safe place. Very few peopleever go there.’ ‘I see. And you travelled by motorbike, the two of you onone bike. Why was that?’ ‘Well, you probably know that the old road into the quarryhas been blocked off, to keep people out. But there are stillways to get in, along footpaths, on foot or on a bike. I knowthe place pretty well. I like to take a dirt bike down there everyonce in a while, just for fun.’ ‘You do appreciate, don’t you, that in doing so you’re tres-passing.’ Sam lowered her eyes and looked contrite. ‘Sorry. Am I introuble?’ ‘Oh, I don’t think we need worry about a little matter likethat, but you might like to take it into consideration in future.Now, you had a shotgun with you. Whose was it?’ ‘Mr Rattigan’s.’ The policeman nodded and made a note. ‘Can you describethe events leading up to your injury please.’ Sam nodded and began to recite the story she had rehearsed 121

last night with Thomas. ‘It was my turn to shoot. I had the shotgun against my shoul-der. Thomas was standing behind me, correcting my grip, youunderstand?’ The policeman nodded and motioned her to go on. ‘Then a fox ran out from behind a bush. It startled me. I spunaround and then…the gun just went off.’ ‘You didn’t mean to fire it? You weren’t aiming at anythingin particular?’ ‘No. I think my finger must have just slipped on the trigger.’ ‘I see. And what happened next?’ ‘I don’t remember. I came-to in the hospital. The bit inbetween is just a blank.’ ‘Hmm.’ The policeman continued to gaze at her, his faceexpressionless, as though giving her time to say more. Sam feltherself beginning to blush. She knew herself to be a poor liar,and the story they had concocted sounded rather thin, even toher own ears. ‘Very well, Ms Hayward,’ the Inspector said finally. ‘Whatyou say tallies with Mr Rattigan’s explanation. It appears yourstray shot ricocheted off part of the old metal conveyor beltthat was used to carry rock from the quarry face, peppering youand, to a lesser extent, Mr Rattigan, with your own buckshot.’ ‘I see.’ ‘Sergeant Truman and I have been down to the quarry thismorning, and its true there are signs of a firearm having beendischarged in the manner described.’ Once more the policeman fell silent and Sam had the strongimpression that he suspected her story was false. ‘We’ve checked out Mr Rattigan,’ he said suddenly.‘Wealthy man. Has some influential friends. And of course, asthe new owner of Berkley Manor...but no-one’s above the law,Ms Hayward. If there were anything you felt you’d like to tellus, in confidence, so to speak…’ 122

Sam shook her head. ‘I’ve told you all I know, Inspector,’she said stoutly. ‘Well, in that case, I think that’s all we need. No point in ourdelaying you further. I hope you recover quickly Miss Rattig…..I’m sorry, Miss Hayward.’ ‘Thank you.’ Sam lay back in her bed, exhausted both physically andmentally. The pain in her side was no more than a dull throbbut the pain killers were making her feel drowsy. The door opened again and Charles entered, a huge bunch offlowers in his arms. ‘Hello Charles,’ she said tiredly. ‘Hi. God you look awful. They told me you were all right.The nurse did. Not what I’d call all right.’ He looked affronted,as though they had tried to deceive him on purpose. ‘I am all right,’ Sam insisted, trying to sound as though shefelt it. ‘I’m alive and that’s what matters.’ ‘No thanks to that damn fool Rattigan!’ Charles said angrily.‘What the hell was he thinking of?’ ‘It wasn’t Thomas’ fault, Charles. It was an accident.’ ‘Oh, that’s wonderful. Defend him why don’t you? The manjust about killed you and you lie there…’ ‘Charles. I’m all right but I’m very tired. Can we save thisconversation for another time, please?’ ‘Oh. Yes of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that when I think ofthat man’s stupidity I….sorry, there I go again.’ ‘Thank you for the flowers. That was sweet of you. But Ithink I’ll rest now if you don’t mind.’ ‘Right. I’ll just put these here then.’ Hesitantly he backed hisway out of the room. ‘I’ll come and see you again tomorrow,’he called as the door swung shut. Sam sighed heavily and closed her eyes. The doctor called on his rounds an hour later. Sam was 123

waiting for him. ‘I want you to release me,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea….’ ‘Look. My leg hurts but I can walk on it. I know, I’ve tried.And my arm is all right in a sling. I have things to do. I feel souseless just lying here. Besides,’ she played her trump card,‘I’m sure you need the bed.’ The doctor gave her a shrewd look but nodded his head. ‘It’sagainst my better judgement you understand…?’ ‘Thanks doc.’ Within an hour, Sam was out of bed, dressed and in a taxi onher way to Berkley Manor. * 124

17 ‘Should you be up and about?’ Rattigan asked as he showedSam into the library. ‘I’m okay,’ she told him. ‘I had to get out. We need to talk.Any news about Martin?’ ‘No. I’ve rung your chap Jezz a couple of times. Theyhaven’t made contact.’ ‘So what are you going to do?’ ‘Do? What can I do? Wait, hope, pray.’ ‘How about going after them?’ Rattigan became very still. ‘You know something?’ ‘No. Not really. But we saw them and we saw their bikes.We could go and look for them.’ ‘You mean just drive around aimlessly in the hope that oneof them will ride past? That’s a bit of a long shot isn’t it?’ ‘Not as much as it sounds. Look, I’ve been thinking aboutthis while I was lying in that hospital bed. These men arebikers. Bikers are sociable people. They congregate. I know theplaces they meet: transport cafes, burger bars, pubs. And todayis Sunday. That’s the traditional day for bikers to get out andabout.’ Rattigan looked sceptical. ‘But we didn’t see their faces.How would we recognise them? As far as I’m concerned theywere just two men dressed in black leather.’ ‘I know. I wouldn’t recognise them either. But I mightrecognise their bikes. You see, they expected you to turn up at 125

the meeting alone. The average person probably wouldn’t evenremember what the bikes looked like. But I do. I’ve spent mywhole life around bikes. The guy in the blue helmet was ridinga black Bultaco trails bike. The other one, the one in the redhelmet, was on a red Yamaha.’ ‘But the number plates were covered. I remember thatmuch.’ ‘Yes. And that’s going to make it more difficult. The Yamahais a pretty common bike. There’s plenty of them around. Butthe Bultaco is rather more rare. And if we’re lucky enough tosee these two bikes together, well, the chances of that particularcombination being used by two other bikers is pretty slim. Andthere’s one other thing.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘It came to me while I was lying in my hospital bed. I wasreplaying the shooting over and over in my mind, trying toremember details that might help. It was difficult to think. Ikept dozing off. It’s these pain killers they’ve given me, theymake me drowsy. Anyway, just as I was falling asleep, I heardsomething; a motorbike driving out of the hospital car park. Ittriggered a memory.’ ‘You think it might have been one of the kidnapper’s bikes? ‘No. But it reminded me of something. After I was shot…when I was on the ground…I heard them ride off. One of thebikes had a blown exhaust. It sounded very loud, rasping.’ ‘Hmm. So how does that help us?’ ‘It narrows things down, don’t you see? It had to be theYamaha. I heard the Bultaco when it arrived. It’s exhaust wasfine.’ ‘So we’re looking for a black Bultaco and a red Yamaha witha blown exhaust. It still sounds pretty thin to me.’ ‘Do you have anything better to do today?’ ‘If we’re going to do this, we have to blend in with the 126

crowd. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.’ ‘Perhaps you’d like me to wear a wig and have a few tattoosdone?’ ‘I don’t think we need go quite that far. It’s not as thoughwe’re going to drive into a Hell’s Angels hangout. Lots of thesepeople are just weekend bikers. Monday to Friday they work asinsurance clerks and bus drivers. But at the weekend they dressfor biking. So we have to as well.’ ‘So what do you want me to do?’ Sam surveyed the man standing before her. It looked asthough he hadn’t slept for the past forty eight hours. A darkstubble blurred the line of his jaw and his hair looked lank andunruly. He was wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, both heavilycreased as though he had slept in them. ‘The stubble is good. Don’t shave. And don’t wash your hair.The jeans are just about okay, but the rest is no good. You looklike a rich man setting out to dig his garden on a Sunday after-noon. I can let you borrow a jacket and boots from the shop.They’ll look a bit shiny and new but that can’t be helped.’ Rattigan was watching her closely, a thoughtful look on hisface. ‘Wait here,’ he said. Ten minutes later a stranger walked into the library whereSam was waiting. As her eyes roamed over the figure who stood before her, hermouth opened in a silent O of amazement. ‘How do I look?’ Rattigan asked, his tone self-mocking buthis face serious. ‘Beautiful,’ Sam breathed, and the man’s face creased insurprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’ ‘I mean…fine. Just right. Very authentic.’ The leather jacket was what was known as a lightning jacket.It had six inch long leather tassels hanging from the insideseams of the sleeves, designed to stream out behind the rider 127

when travelling at speed. It was old and scuffed but perfectlyserviceable. ‘Turn around,’ Sam said quietly and watched as Rattiganmade a slow pirouette for her benefit. The trousers were leatheralso, tight across his firm buttocks, tucked into the tops of apair of stout motorcycle boots. A black t-shirt completed theensemble. ‘Are those….?’ ‘Yes. I was wearing these the day I had my accident. Theycame off rather better than I did. But I don’t have a helmet. Itdidn’t survive.’ ‘That’s okay. I can supply a helmet.’ ‘So how do we get there? Can you ride a bike with thatarm?’ ‘No.’ ‘Ah! I see.’ ‘You rode last week.’ ‘Yes, I know.’ ‘Look, if you want to call the whole thing off…’ ‘No. I’ll do it.’ ‘Good.’ It was gone two o’clock that afternoon when they arrivedat Box Hill. Sam surveyed the teaming mass of bikers, hermind gnawing at the doubt that had assailed her for the pasttwo hours. This place offered them the best chance of findingtheir quarry, but she had decided to make several stops on theway; a couple of pubs and a transport cafe. They had drawna complete blank at the cafe and one of the pubs but at thesecond, a seedy, back-street place five miles from her home, ared Yamaha had stood in the car park. ‘Is it the one?’ Rattigan had asked. ‘I don’t know. It’s the right model but I can’t tell if it’s theone we’re looking for until I hear it start up.’ 128

They had passed a frustrating forty minutes dawdling overorange juices, unwilling to blunt their senses with alcohol.Finally, a young man had peeled away from the crowd ofbikers at the bar and climbed on the Yamaha. With a fierce kickon the starter, the engine had roared into life. Rattigan lookedexpectantly at Sam. ‘Damn!’ she groaned. ‘It’s not the one.’ Fuming, Sam decided to skip a couple of other places she’dhad in mind and they headed straight for Box Hill. All theway here her mind had taunted her with the question; What ifthe bikers had been and gone? Perhaps they were here whileshe and Rattigan were drinking orange juice and watching thewrong bike. ‘What is this place?’ Rattigan asked. He had climbed offtheir bike and removed his crash helmet and stood now lookingaround him in amazement. ‘Box Hill,’ Sam told him, with a nod towards the slopewhich rose up almost vertically behind them. ‘It’s a naturalbeauty spot. Owned by the National Trust I think. But it’s alsoone of the most popular meeting places for bikers in the Southof England. Has been for years. My dad used to bring me herewhen I was little.’ They had parked in a huge car park at the foot of the slope.Hundreds of bikes of all colours and sizes were parked in rows.At the far side of the car park stood a café with picnic benchesoutside and a grass area. The whole place was teeming withbikers. ‘But why do they come here?’ Rattigan asked. He nodded atthe café. ‘The food can’t be that good.’ ‘They come to meet up. With friends, with strangers. Toadmire one another’s bikes. And to race.’ ‘Race?’ ‘Yes. Illegally. That road we just came along, the dualcarriage-way. It runs right past this place and goes on for 129

another three miles or so. They race along there.’ ‘In the middle of traffic?’ ‘I know. It’s madness. But it’s been going on for years. Thepolice just can’t stop it. On a day like this there’ll be half adozen cops out there, on bikes and in cars. They cruise up anddown this stretch, hoping to deter the bikers. But there’s alwayssomeone who’ll have a go, and a huge appreciative audience tocheer them on.’ ‘Did you ever race here?’ ‘No. I don’t approve of it. And neither did my father. But ifyou’re part of the motorcycle scene, sooner or later you findyour way to Box Hill. That’s why I think this is our best chanceof finding those men. We’d better start looking for the bikes.You wait here. I’ll take a wander.’ For the next five minutes, Sam walked up and down the rowsof bikes, methodically covering the ground, determined not tomiss them if they were here. It wasn’t as easy at it sounded.Bikes were leaving and arriving in a constant stream and Samhad to keep looking over her shoulder at the entrance, afraid ofmissing something. Finally she arrived back at the spot whereRattigan stood beside their bike. As she approached, she couldn’t help but marvel at the wayThomas looked in his biking leathers. It was like looking at adifferent man. She watched him for a moment, standing tall anderect as the other bikers swirled around him. For the most partthey were pimply faced youths or fat middle aged men, theirstomachs hanging over their belts. The contrast was startling,Thomas with his deep tan, his broad shoulders and narrow hipsaccentuated by the tight fitting leathers, his handsome face. Helooked for all the world like a movie star surrounded by extras. What a pity, she thought. If only this had been the real Ratti-gan, not some long distant might-have-been version....then....maybe.... ‘Any luck?’ he asked. 130

‘Maybe. There are two Yamahas here, but no sign of theBultaco. We’ll have to keep an eye on one bike each. The drillis the same as at the pub. I won’t know if it’s the bike we wantuntil I hear it start up. Okay?’ Rattigan nodded solemnly and Sam led him to the first of thetwo red bikes. ‘If the rider arrives, wave. I’ll be just over there. I can seeyou from where I’ll be standing.’ Half an hour went by slowly while Sam and Rattigan waitedfor the bikes’ owners to show up. Sam had the additional worryof trying to keep an eye on new bikes arriving through theentrance fifty yards away. The noise in the car park was terrificwith so many bikes revving their engines, but even through thegeneral din, the sound that met her ears was instantly recogniz-able. Sam turned towards the entrance in time to see Jezz guidehis monstrous three wheeler into the car park and cruise aroundthe perimeter. He blipped the big engine, enjoying the admiringlooks of those he passed. Jezz had always been something of ashow off. She knew he came here often, enjoying the audience,but he shouldn’t have been there that day. Sam cursed quietly under her breath. Damn Jezz! What thehell was he playing at? She had left him minding the shop, incase the kidnappers called again. She hadn’t told him whereshe was going, so he hadn’t come here looking for her. Well,he’d better have a bloody good explanation for abandoning hispost. Briefly, Sam considered leaving her own post to talk withhim, but rejected the idea. They wanted to keep a low profileand remaining inconspicuous was definitely not Jezz’s style. Shecould see him at the far end of the car park, a crowd of bikerssurrounding his bike. She would have to save the bollocking forlater. Five minutes after Jezz’s arrival, she walked back to Rattigan. 131

‘My chap’s just left,’ she told him. ‘No go I’m afraid. Theexhaust sounded fine. Of course, he could have had it fixed, butwe can’t afford to think too much about that possibility. We’vegot to believe we’ll know it when we hear it. Listen, I’ve got togo to the loo. I’ll only be a minute, okay?’ Thomas nodded absently, his eyes still scanning the crowd,and Sam set off towards the cafeteria. As she squeezed her waythrough the press of bodies around the entrance to the café,she noticed Jezz once more. He was sitting fifty feet away atone of the picnic benches, his wheelchair parked behind him,talking with another biker. On the table between them lay twoStyrofoam coffee cups and two helmets: Jezz’s stars-and-stripesskid-lid and a plain matte-black full-face helmet. Jezz was hunched over the table, his meaty forearms plantedon its wooden surface, his bearded jaw jutting as he spokeforcefully to the man seated opposite. From the angry lines inJezz’s face, they appeared to be having an argument. Sam was intrigued. It was unusual to see Jezz angry. Despitehis fondness for appearing mean, moody, and dangerous, sheknew from long experience that he rarely let things get to him.It was a shock, therefore, to see him bunch one huge, tattooedfist and hold it under the other man’s chin. As her gaze settled on the man’s face, it stirred a distantmemory. She knew him from somewhere, but couldn’t quiteplace him at this moment. An urgent message from her bladder brought her back to thebusiness at hand and she made her way quickly into the cafe-teria and out to the toilets at the rear. As often happened, therewas a queue for the ladies and Sam was forced to wait, almosthopping from foot to foot, for her turn. Hurrying back, uncomfortably aware that she had been gonemore than the promised five minutes, Sam pushed her waythrough the crowd to where she had left Thomas. She stareddumbly at the empty space. He was gone, and one quick glance 132

told her that the red bike had gone as well. Hell! She’d missedher chance. Thomas must have taken off after him. But hecouldn’t even know it was the right bike. As these thoughts flashed through her mind, a movementin the corner of her eye finally gained her attention. Fifty feetaway, Thomas sat astride her bike, his arms waving crazilyabove his head like those of a semaphore signaller. Sambroke into a run, her heavy motor bike boots pounding on theconcrete. As she arrived and began to clamber onto the back ofthe bike Thomas shouted through his helmet,’ He only just left.I saw which road he took.’ Sam wrapped her arms about him and tensed her leg musclesas the bike tore out of the car park and leaned immediately intothe first bend. As their speed rose, Sam shifted position slight-ly so that she could peer over Thomas’s shoulder at the roadahead. She could see several bikes in the distance but they weretoo far away to recognise shapes and colours. Thomas contin-ued to push them through the acceleration curve, the speedom-eter needle swinging through eighty on its way to ninety milesan hour. Sam stared hard at the rearmost bike which appearedto grow in size as they rapidly overhauled it. She felt Thomas throttle back slightly and their speed beganto drop. Sam realised what he was doing. He wasn’t surewhether this was the bike they were looking for and didn’twant to overtake it. ‘Don’t slow down,’ she said into her intercom. ‘That’s notthe one. Too small! I’ll let you know when I recognise it.’ Thomas nodded and Sam felt the surge of power as he accel-erated once more. The road they were on was a broad dual carriage-way withlong sweeping bends. They had topped one hundred miles anhour now and the bike was still accelerating steadily and Samstrained her eyes, trying to see as far ahead as possible, lookingfor the tell tale light cluster on top of the parked cars that would 133

indicate a police trap. Part of Sam’s brain noticed how well Thomas handled thebig machine and was impressed, while deploring what theywere doing on a public road. They had caught up with severalother bikes now, their riders spotting them in their mirrors andmoving out of the way. Sam could see their respectful stares asthey passed in a blur. And then she saw it. A flash of red, the sun glinting on apetrol tank, half a mile ahead and moving a good deal slowerthan they were. ‘That one, up ahead,’ she said. ‘It could be the one. Slowdown a bit.’ She braced herself as he braked heavily, their speed sluingoff as the big ventilated disk brakes converted energy into heat,glowing red hot with the effort. Let this be the one, she prayed desperately. If it’s the wrongbike, we’ve lost our chance. They were no more than a hundred yards behind the bikenow and Sam clenched her fists with satisfaction as she ran hereyes over the bikes rear view. Yes, that was a Yamaha. But wasit the one they were looking for? She couldn’t hear its exhaustnote for the sound of their own engine and the wind in her ears.Thomas had slowed to match the speed of the bike in front andwas maintaining their distance. ‘We need to get closer,’ Sam told Rattigan. ‘I need to hearthat exhaust.’ They began to pick up speed once more, the gap betweenthem closing fast. They were no more than fifty feet away whenanother bike went past them, appearing suddenly alongside asa yellow blur and a roar of sound. It was travelling fast but as itpassed, Sam saw its brake light flash on. Drawing alongside the red bike, the rider leaned from hissaddle and waved a hand at the other rider, middle fingerextended in the classic American equivalent of the British 134

two fingers. Then the rider opened his machine up once moreand sped off. The rider of the red bike followed, acceleratinghard, and Sam caught her breath as she heard the blare ofthe machine’s exhaust. That was it. It was the bike they werelooking for. Apparently Thomas had heard it too, for he opened thethrottle wide and tore after the two speeding bikes. They werea hundred yards ahead and drawing away. Damn, Sam thought,we’re losing them! ‘Faster Thomas, this beauty can take them,’ she muttered andRattigan gave the bike its head. They tore around the next bendat over ninety miles an hour. Too late, Sam recognised wherethey were. A huge roundabout, busy with traffic, loomed only ahundred yards ahead. As she stared in horror, the red bike shot straight across theroundabout, the rider merely twitching the bike this way andthat to negotiate the curve, and the yellow bike followed. Itwas a mindless display of bravado which was met with angryblaring horns from several cars to whom the bikes must haveappeared as nothing but brightly coloured blurs. ‘No Thomas!’ she screamed. ‘Don’t follow them!’ With sagging relief she felt him apply the brakes and theirspeed plummeted as they approached the roundabout. As luckwould have it, it was now thick with cars and Thomas wasforced to pull to a halt. ‘We’ve lost them!’ Sam moaned. ‘Let them go!’ * 135

18 ‘Are you sure it was the right bike?’ ‘You heard it yourself.’ ‘Sure, but as you said, it’s a common enough problem. Theremust be lots of bikes out there with blown exhausts.’ ‘I know, but it’s too big a co-incidence. God, if only I hadn’tgot held up at the loos!’ ‘You couldn’t know. It was just bad luck.’ ‘Did you get a look at him? Could you describe him to thepolice?’ Rattigan shook his head. ‘No. He was already wearing hiscrash helmet when I first saw him. He just pushed his waythrough the crowd, climbed on and then he was off. It was sosudden I barely caught a glimpse of him.’ ‘But it could have been our man?’ ‘Medium build, black leather jacket, jeans. Yes, it could havebeen him, but on that basis so could a hundred others at thatplace.’ Sam sighed heavily. ‘Well, we have the registration number.I wrote it down while we were waiting for the owner to showup. Perhaps we should just give it to the police. They couldtrace him.’ ‘No. No police. Not while they still have Martin.’ ‘Then what can we do?’ ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps I can find out the name of the ownerwithout going through official channels. I know one or two 136

policemen.’ ‘And then what? We go after them ourselves? No Thomas,this is a job for the police.’ ‘I tell you, I will not endanger Martin’s life at this junc-ture. If they contact us again they can have the money and bedamned. All I want is my nephew back safely.’ They returned to the car park at Box Hill and waited anothertwo hours, listlessly drinking coffee, not talking now, tooacutely aware of having lost their one and only chance. Everyten minutes or so, Sam would walk around the car park prayingthat the red Yamaha would be back. Each time she returned toRattigan despondent. By five o’clock it had begun to rain and activity in the carpark had dropped appreciably. People were going home towatch telly, to eat, prepare for an early night. It was Mondaytomorrow. Work. The normal dull routine of everyday lives. ‘He’s not coming back,’ Rattigan told her when she returnedfrom her latest tour of the parked bikes. ‘Let’s go home.’ Hisvoice was hollow, emotionless, hopeless. Sam nodded. She had come to the same conclusion an hourago but hadn’t wanted to be the one to voice it. It was Ratti-gan’s decision. She would have stayed here all night if he hadwanted. The journey back to Sam’s showroom took a little over fortyminutes. Rattigan rode carefully along the wet roads, observ-ing all the speed limits. The man was sunk deep in despair,Sam thought bitterly, but you wouldn’t have known it from hisdriving. She sat slumped on the pillion seat, her side throbbingabominably. She was due to have taken her painkillers an hourago but she hadn’t done so, punishing herself for what shecouldn’t help but see as her failure. As Rattigan rolled the bike into the car park of SpeedMachine and parked next to his Range Rover, Sam noted that 137

Jezz’s tricycle was back in its familiar place. The sudden surgeof anger she felt washed away some of the weariness. He’dbetter have a damn good explanation for leaving the phone. They climbed from the bike and Rattigan opened his mouthto speak, but at that moment the door to the office burst openand Jezz emerged, powering his wheelchair towards them asthough he would run them down. His ugly face was flushed andhis voice trembled with excitement as he shouted to them. ‘Boss! Boss!’ he roared, bringing the chair to a sliding haltbefore them. ‘They rang. The kidnappers. They’re releasing theboy!’ Rattigan lunged forward, grabbed Jezz's wheelchair byits arms and pushed his face close to the biker's. 'When?' hedemanded. 'When did they say they'd release him?' 'They phoned a couple of hours ago….' Jezz began, butRattigan shook the wheelchair with impatience. 'No,' he roared.'I don't want to know when they phoned. When did they sayMartin would be free?' 'Oh.' Jezz said. 'Yeah. Sorry. See what you mean. They saidhe was already there, waiting for you to collect him.' 'Already where? Where did they say he was?' 'That place you went to meet them. In the woods. They saidthey'd left 'im there.' 'You mean he's been lying in those woods for two wholehours? In the rain?' 'I didn't know where you'd got to,' Jezz whined. 'I wouldhave gone and got 'im meself but I thought you'd be back hoursago. I din't want to phone the police see, cos you said you din'twant them involved, and Sam’s mobile is fucked..' Rattigan didn’t wait to hear Jezz's excuses. He was alreadyclimbing into the Range Rover when Sam wrenched open thepassenger door and clambered in beside him. Without a wordexchanged between them, the car roared out of the car park, 138

splashing through puddles and sending a bow wave of waterwhich washed between the spokes of Jezz's wheels. 'Do you know where you're going?' Sam asked. 'Do youremember the way?' 'Only the first few miles.' 'I'll give you directions.' The tyres hissed on the wet tarmac as the car sped alongthe twisting country roads. Rattigan was driving fast, giving ithis total concentration. They drove in silence except for Sam'soccasional spoken instructions. 'We turn left just ahead, around the next bend. You need toslow down or you'll miss it,' and a few minutes later: 'We'recoming up to a hump-backed bridge. There's a turning on theright next to a cottage.' As she spoke she could hear in her mind, the cold, mechan-ical voice that had sounded in her earphones, giving the samedirections. She shivered at the recollection. 'There's a turning on the left coming up…' she began, butRattigan cut her off. 'I remember this bit,' he told her. 'I can still hear thatbastard's voice in my head, telling us to slow down for thecorner.' Sam nodded ruefully. 'I was just thinking the same th….' She stopped. 'Oh my God,' she whispered. 'What?' Rattigan asked, too occupied with his driving to seethe shocked expression on her face. 'Give me a minute. I need to think this through.' As Rattigan drove on in silence, Sam stared through the rainstreaked windscreen, her mind working furiously. 'Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘It fits. It all fits!' 'What fits? What are you talking about?' 'I know who kidnapped Martin.' Rattigan tore his eyes from the road to stare at her. He saidnothing. 139

'…at least, I know one of them,' Sam corrected herself. 'Hisname is Donovan. Ray Donovan? He's a…' 'Save it!' Rattigan told her curtly. 'We’re nearly there. We'lltalk about your Mr Donovan when we have Martin safe.' It was full dark as they bumped and splashed their way alongthe dirt track which rose over the little hill. Sam climbed out toopen the five bar gate, wading through mud to reach it, and leftit open behind them. Rattigan drove the car through the gap butpulled up ten yards later. 'The track's not wide enough,' he pointed out. 'We'll have togo on foot.' Opening the boot, he pulled a rubber covered torch from thetool box. 'Let's go,' he commanded. 'Follow me. Stay close. Ifyou get lost you're on your own.' Obediently, Sam fell in behind him and they set off alongthe path to the clearing. As they stumbled along the rough,squelching track, she glanced obliquely at Rattigan. His face,illuminated by the backwash of the torch's beam, was set in agrim mask. Sam could imagine the thoughts running throughhis mind: Would the boy be all right? Why had the kidnappersreleased him without the money? It was pitch dark between the trees, the heavy clouds obscur-ing the moon, and rain pattered steadily around them. Thensuddenly, they were in the clearing and there ahead of them,picked out by the beam of Rattigan's torch, was a bundle onthe ground. Rattigan broke into a trot for the last few yards andknelt beside the figure on the ground. Sam stood above him,holding her breath against bad news, as he reached out andgently touched the bundle, Martin was lying on his side, wrapped in a sleeping bag andapparently unconscious. His hair and face were running withwater. As Rattigan carefully unzipped the bag they could seethat the boy's hands were handcuffed together. A few feet away,a forked stick was stuck in the ground, a pair of silver keys 140

hanging from its tip. Considerate of them, Sam thought bitterly. 'He's breathing,' Rattigan said over his shoulder. 'Pulse isstrong. He's just asleep. They must have given him sleepingpills. Let's get him back to the car.' Reaching beneath the boy, Rattigan hoisted him upright andthen, with Sam's help, changed his grip to a fireman's lift, theboy's body slung over his shoulder. Quickly they made theirway back to the car and Sam held the door open while Ratti-gan laid Martin out on the back seat. A few moments later theywere bouncing their way back down the dirt track. When they reached the smooth tarmac road, Rattiganspeeded up and they flew through the night. A moan soundedfrom the back seat and Sam clambered out of her seat belt andturned to check on him. 'He's coming round,' she announced. 'Thank God he's allright.' Rattigan did not reply, staring straight ahead through thewindshield, his face looking as though it were carved fromstone. An hour later, Rattigan entered the library where Sam waswaiting. 'He's sleeping normally now,' he told her. 'The doctor's justleft. No lasting effects, he says.' His voice had a deadly calm quality about it. 'And now, tellme about Ray Donovan. Who is he? How do you know him?' 'I've only met him once. He applied for a job at SpeedMachine. That was more than a year ago, but I saw him todayat Box Hill. I thought I recognised his face, but I couldn't put aname to it at the time. It didn't seem important.' 'What makes you think he kidnapped my nephew?' 'You remember the night we drove up to the meeting place?The man following us was giving instructions. Think back. Did 141

you notice anything special about the way he did that?' Rattigan concentrated hard, frowning with the effort ofrecall. ‘No. I don't think so. As far as I can remember he had noparticular accent…' 'Forget about accent. I'm talking about the way he gave thedirections.' Rattigan shrugged. 'Apart from the fact that he obviouslyknew exactly where we were going….but you'd expect thatwouldn't you? He would do his homework first, drive overthe route several times. The instructions were very clear andprecise, distances, speeds. You couldn't get them wrong.' 'That's right! As though he were used to giving those sortsof directions. And he knew how to use the two way radio. Oh, Idon't mean how to turn it on or whatever, but he didn't mumbleor mutter or any of the things beginners do. It was as though itwere all familiar to him.' 'You think he'd done it before? Perhaps on another kidnap-ping?' 'No. For a job. Terry Donovan was a riding instructor beforehe lost his license for drink driving.' 'I see. Then we'd best give his name to the police. Martin'ssafe. There's no reason not to tell them everything now.' 'I suppose not,' Sam said doubtfully. 'You're going to ringthem now?' 'No. I'll call them in the morning. No doubt they'll wantto take statements and so on. I don't want them questioningMartin until he's had a good night's sleep.' Sam stared at the carpet. 'Will you do something for me?' 'What?' 'Don't contact the police until you've spoken to me. Phoneme in the morning, about nine. Just hold off until then.' 'Why?' 'I…I have an idea. I need to think about it.' 142

'What idea?' 'I may know who else was involved. But I need to checksomething out. Please. Just do this for me will you? It won'tdelay anything. Please?' It was Rattigan's turn to look doubtful. 'Very well,’ he said. ‘But at five minutes past nine I shall bespeaking to the police.' * 143

19 By the time Rattigan dropped Sam back at Speed Machine itwas past eleven o'clock but a light still glowed from the officewindow and Jezz's three-wheeler sat in the car park. Wearily,dreading what was to come, she entered the office. The biker was behind the counter, dozing in his wheelchair.His mouth hung open and deep, rumbling snores emerged ashis chest rose and fell rhythmically. For a moment Sam stood looking down at him, her mindconjuring up memories from the past. Jezz had always been around. She could not remember atime when he was not. She could see him now in his racingleathers, tall and fit looking, before the accident, before thedisillusionment and the drink took its toll. There was the time when, aged seventeen and just beginningto go out with boys, she had found herself out of her depthwith a biker who had tried to force himself upon her. She hadescaped his clutches but only because she had drunk a greatdeal less than he had. Later, when she confided in Jezz, he hadset off with a grim look on his face and a length of motorcyclechain wrapped around his waist. She had never been troubledagain. She owed this man a lot. She liked him. He was more thanan employee, he was her friend, as he had been her father'sfriend before. Gently she reached out and shook the big man's shoulder. 144

His eyes opened and his mouth worked, his tongue licking hisdry lips as he tried to speak. 'Mrumph,' he groaned. 'Must've dropped off. D'you find ‘im?How is he? Is he all right?' 'Yes, Jezz,' Sam told him, her voice weary. 'We found him.And he's okay. Exhausted, cold, but he'll be fine after a coupleof days in bed.' 'Thank Christ for that. If those bastards had hurt him….' 'It could have been much worse: lying out there in the woodsin the pouring rain. He might have suffered hypothermia orcaught pneumonia or something, but the kidnappers wrappedhim in a sleeping bag. That was a nice touch, I thought. Wasthat your idea?' 'You what?' 'The sleeping bag? Was it your idea?' 'I don't know what you're talking about.' 'I can't imagine Ray Donovan thinking of something likethat. He wouldn't give a damn would he? No, I take it you werethe brains behind this little adventure. It needed someone withan organised mind. Someone who can make things run likeclockwork. Someone like you.' Jezz watched her like a rabbit caught in headlights. 'You'retalking bollocks…' he began fiercely, but Sam dropped a pieceof paper on the desk before him. 'At nine o'clock tomorrow morning, Thomas Rattigan isgoing to give that licence number to the police. We took it off ared Yamaha trails bike that was parked in Box Hill this after-noon. At a guess, I'd say when they look it up on their comput-er it will turn out to belong to a Mr Ray Donovan. Hmm?' Jezz continued to watch her, his expression giving nothingaway. 'Why did you do it Jezz? Why?' The big man stared sullenly at her for another moment, thenshrugged. 'Wanted the money,' he said simply. 145

'Just that? Money? Nothing more? Christ, you kidnapped ayoung man, got me shot, put everyone through hell, and all justfor some lousy money?' He shrugged again but said nothing more. Sam turned away, walking around the room shaking herhead. All the way here she’d hoped there would be some otherexplanation, that Jezz would tell her something that wouldmake it all right. But it was just money. 'How'd you find out?' Jezz asked quietly from behind her. 'I worked it out,' she told him. Briefly she recounted the way in which she had piecedtogether the clues. 'You brought him to me for a job a year orso back didn't you? Ray Donovan, a mate of yours from theold days. He was an experienced instructor, had worked fora firm in North London. But I wouldn't hire him, would I? Ididn't like the look of him. And I was right. It turned out he'dlost his license for drink driving. I remember bawling you outfor recommending someone so unreliable. And then tonight,when I recalled seeing the two of you together at Box Hill…thepieces all fell into place. Who was the other one, the one withthe shotgun?' 'Just some bloody fool Ray found. He wasn't supposed toshoot anyone, the fucking idiot. No-one was supposed to gethurt.' He looked down as he added, 'Least of all you.' 'And the boy? What were you going to do if Rattigan didn'tpay up? Kill him? Cut his fingers off and send them to us oneby one?' 'No! I told you. No-one was supposed to get hurt. The boywas okay. They kept him in a barn, fed him three times a day. Imade sure of it. For fuck's sake, we let him go didn't we? Eventhough we didn't get no money.' 'Was that why you were arguing with Donovan today?' 'Yeah. He didn't want to let ‘im go. He wanted to haveanother try at Rattigan. I'd had enough, you getting shot and all. 146

I didn't trust them not to screw it up again. I told him to let theboy go or I'd fucking kill the both of them.' 'Oh Jezz. What have you done? How could you be so stupid?Just for money?' 'That's all right for you to say. You've got money. I ain't got abean.' 'I don't have money! Every penny we earn out of this placegoes back into the business. You know damn well I've beensaving for almost two years for the money to buy that field. Itake the same wage out of this place as you do.' 'Yeah, but it's your business ain't it? It should've been mine.' Sam stared at him in shock. 'What? What the hell do youmean by that?' 'Your dad and I was partners. I helped him build this busi-ness from nothing. It sold bleedin' push-bikes when he got itfrom his dad. Without me this place'd be nothing.' 'My father worked twelve hours a day every day of hislife,’ Sam replied hotly. ‘He cared more about this place thananything else in the world.' 'Yeah. But who was right there by his side every bleedinday? Me, that's who. Your dad couldn't organize a piss-up ina brewery. Oh, he was a great bloke and all, and a damn fineracer, but he could never have made a go of this place withoutme. We was partners.' 'You were never partners. You put no money into the busi-ness.' 'No, just blood sweat and fucking tears. But I didn't mind.I knew one day it'd all be mine. He didn't have no son did he,just a poxy daughter. This ain't no business for a girl. But you'ad to turn out to be a fuckin tomboy din't you? And then whenthe old man bought it, you just waltzed in and took it all over.' 'I turned this place around. We've made more money in thetwo years since I took over than you did in the previous ten.I've earned my right to be here. I was repairing bikes when I 147

was fifteen. I worked in the showroom when I was twenty. Istarted the riding school. I've given ten years of my life to thisplace!’ 'And I've given my fucking legs!' Jezz roared, his facecontorted with rage. Sam stopped, shocked by his vehemence. Her own angerwashed out of her, leaving a bitter taste of failure. 'I know, Jezz. I know,' she told him quietly. 'And I'm sorryabout that. But it was no-one's fault. I lost my father. We all lostone way or another.' The fire had left Jezz too. He sat hunched in his wheelchairlooking defeated. 'What you goin' to do?' he asked. 'Do?' 'About all this. Are you goin' to tell the cops?' 'That's not my decision, Jezz. Rattigan says he'll contactthem in the morning. I don't think I could stop him even if Iwanted to. You stole his nephew for God's sake!' 'Then I'm fucked,' Jezz said bitterly, then he gave a hollowlaugh. 'D'you think they have special cells for prisoners inwheelchairs? Ramps and stuff?' He looked up into her face and she could see the fear in hiseyes. 'Look Jezz. I…I'll talk with Thomas. I'll see what I can do.After all, he's got his nephew back unharmed. Perhaps…' Shetrailed off hopelessly. 'Yeah,' Jezz muttered, then he too fell silent. The heavysilence grew between them as each was lost in their own hope-less thoughts. 'I'll talk with Rattigan,' Sam repeated. 'Perhaps he'll agree notto prosecute. Perhaps not. But either way, you're out of here.If I was you, I'd start moving now. At least you'll get ten hourshead start.' 'And just where the fuck am I supposed to go?' 'I don't know. You could go abroad. There's a midnight ferry 148

from Newhaven…' 'Yeah, and then what? I 'ain't got enough money to last aweek. And who's goin' to give me a job, eh? A fucking cripplein a wheelchair?' Sam moved purposefully into her office. A moment later shewas back with a cheque book. Quickly she scribbled a cheque,tore it off and handed it to him. 'Use your own money to getabroad. You can cash that when the banks open tomorrow.' Jezz stared at the cheque. 'You ain't got this sort of money,'he objected. 'Yes I have. It's the money I was saving to buy the field.We've lost that anyway. You may as well have it. Call it agolden handshake, for services to the business over fifteenyears.' 'Boss, I…' 'Shut up and get the hell out of here will you. I'll do what Ican with Rattigan but I can't promise anything. He doesn't thinkmuch of my judgement.' 'Like fuck! The poor sod's slavering at the bit.' 'What are you talking about?' 'Don't come that with me. I've seen the way you look at eachother. 'E's got the hots for you and you know it.' 'Jezz. If you're not out of here in two minutes I may justchange my mind and phone the police myself.' 'All right I'm going. Keep your hair on.' Sam watched as Jezz emptied a few personal possessionsfrom the drawers behind the counter into his pockets andwheeled his way to the door. As he reached it he turned andlooked at her. 'Boss,' he said quietly. Sam looked up. 'Sorry,' he said. She nodded without a word. As the door closed behind him,she muttered, 'Good luck.' * 149