The Stealers Page 20

  Crane looked at him and nodded his approval, understanding the sacrifice the Frenchman could be making. He went upstairs and unlocked the room where Penny and the children were being held. Upon seeing Crane, Sammy came rushing up. He bent down and the small girl threw her arms around his neck, ‘I’m so happy to see you, Jack. I told Penny you’d come. Is it nearly time to go home?’

  Crane stroked her hair gently and said, ‘Very soon Sammy,’ and with a hug she went back to join the other children. Penny looked at Crane, ‘I’ve been worried sick about Girard. When he escaped from the van… those two men, is he… ’

  ‘He’s okay,’ Crane interjected, ‘he’s downstairs on the phone to the police.’

  Penny let out a sigh, ‘Thank goodness for that.’ She seemed to melt with relief.

  But Crane suddenly looked solemn, ‘Your sister, Jean...’ he began.

  Penny’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped slightly in expectation, as Crane continued. ‘She died three months ago, I’m so sorry.’

  Penny’s eyes filled with tears as she whispered, ‘Bradley?’

  Crane nodded, ‘Mullah told us that she is buried somewhere in the grounds of this chateau estate. Apparently she wouldn’t sign a letter that Bradley typed, so he killed her and forged her signature. She was trying to protect you.’

  ‘So, that letter wasn’t her doing after all.’

  She clung on to Crane for a moment and in an attempt to offer some comfort, he put his arms around her. She sobbed bitterly whilst resting her head on his shoulder. Between tears she said, ‘First my sister and then my brother.’

  Crane stood there for some minutes before saying gently, ‘I’ve got to go soon. In an effort to get at me, Bradley has got hold of someone that I know who is very dear to me.’

  Penny straightened up and reached for a tissue, ‘You must go then. I hope he pays dearly for what he has done.’

  ‘He will if I have anything to do with it.’

  Crane went downstairs. Girard, gun in hand, was still on the phone to the gendarme headquarters in Boulogne. The Frenchman cupped a hand over the phone and said, ‘You had better go, if the gendarmes find you here your departure could be delayed.’

  Crane felt a sticky patch as they shook hands and noticed a dark area on the sleeve of Girard’s jacket: it was blood. ‘Are you sure you are alright?’

  The Frenchman managed a weak smile and said, ‘Yes, I’m fine, go on and take care, mon ami.’

  Crane left the chateau and walked to the Rover; it was still parked in the place where he had left it. He got into the car, turned the key and the oversized engine roared to life. Listening to the beat of the engine ticking over, he reached inside the glovebox for the mobile phone; the battery was flat, so he plugged it into the dashboard before he drove off. He guessed it should take no more than four hours to get home, providing he could get a channel crossing through the tunnel. This would make it early afternoon when he would reach home and hopefully have time to somehow do something to stop Bradley.

  *

  Daniella heard the front door of the cottage close and then the muffled sound of a car starting up. This was her first, and maybe only, chance to try and escape. She sat, tied to a wooden dining chair, and with the uncomfortable collar and chain still around her neck. The other end of the chain was coiled around the leg of a heavy solid oak table. Her hands were bound at the back of the chair and her legs and waist securely tied to the seat, keeping her static.

  Daniella gradually shuffled the chair closer to the table. She tucked her bound legs and feet under the cross member of the table and managed to raise it slightly. She then began to jostle it. The continuous movement caused the chain, which was looped around the table leg to gradually fall to the floor. However the chain still remained attached to the bottom of the leg and the work was tiring.

  The next part was more difficult; she had to lift the corner of the table and at the same time, shuffle backwards on the chair to get the chain from under the leg. She was aware that too much movement could cause the chair to slip back and she might be strangled by the pull of the dog collar. Daniella made several attempts, but at last she was successful. Now she could stand, albeit leaning forwards as well as being tied to the chair. She hopped and hobbled on both legs towards the knife stand, then bent forward and knocked the stand over with her chin so that it lay flat on the work surface on one side. She turned around and grabbed hold of one of the blades. It took some time to manoeuvre the knife on the work surface into position and, with restricted movement, slowly, very slowly she hacked away at the bonds on her wrists until, at last her hands were free and she could use them to finally cut the rope that was binding her to the chair.

  Daniella removed the dog collar and rubbed her sore red wrists and neck. Looking at the kitchen clock she noted that Bradley had been gone for an hour. “He could be back at any time,” she thought fearfully, as she grabbed hold of her handbag and ran towards the front door. She turned back the latch and was about to swing the door open when the sound of Bradley’s car pulling up outside nearly made her heart stop. Easing the door shut, she hurried through the passage towards the rear door and stepped out into the garden.

  Once more, with legs shaking, she ran along the path adjacent to the lane, ignoring the small branches that swished into her, and stopped breathlessly when it came to an end. She would now have to get into the lane and run like hell for the last fifty metres to reach the main road and maybe safety. She hoped that Bradley did not beat her to it.

  Still breathing heavily, Daniella stepped into the lane and made a bold dash for the main road. As she neared the end of the lane, the throaty roar of an engine coming up from behind spurred her on. She knew he was catching up.

  At last she turned into the main road. Suddenly a feeling of hope surged through her as a single decker bus flashed past and slowly pulled up at a stop a few metres ahead. The bus driver caught sight of Daniella in his mirror as she was running and panting towards his vehicle so, with a deft flick of his thumb, he had opened the automatic doors in expectation. Daniella was exhausted as she reached the door, but she somehow found the energy to clamber aboard. The driver, smiling gently at the expression of relief on her face, pressed the button to close the doors. If the driver had stayed looking in his rear-view mirror a split second longer, he would have seen Bradley, face contorted with rage, chasing along the pavement after her. However, the driver knew he had checked the road and nonchantly put his vehicle into gear and the bus pulled away. Daniella flopped into a seat shaking, exhausted and gasping for air but with the deep satisfaction inside her: she had made it!

  *

  The police from Boulogne wasted no time in reaching Chateau du Lac. Three police cars and a van arrived in quick succession. Girard had called Penny and the children from upstairs and bade them to sit and wait on chairs outside whilst he kept a watchful eye on Mullah and his cohorts.

  Two of the armed policemen entered the building and one of them relieved Girard of his weapon. The detective in charge stood outside and was taken aback when he saw Penny with the missing children. Using her best French accent Penny explained how they came to be there.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ the policeman exclaimed, ‘they have been missing for over a week and we were beginning to fear the worst.’

  ‘It’s all down to Girard, it would never have happened without him and an English gentleman.’

  ‘English gentleman, where is he?’

  ‘He had to go back home to England. One of the perpetrators is holding someone he knew as a hostage.’

  ‘I hope he is successful. I would like to meet him if that is possible.’

  ‘What about Girard, I mean, he’s a wanted man isn’t he?’

  ‘Not any more, at least not by us. We discovered the truth about the criminal activities of the men who framed him, but alas, the Foreign Legion may see things differently.’

  As they were speaking, one of the police cars pulled into the drive with a ha
lf-naked man sitting in the back seat. They had found him lying bound up, exactly where Girard described, deep in the woods a little further down the lane.

  Mullah and company were handcuffed but, as they were shepherded into the van, Girard exclaimed, ‘One of them is missing,’ and looking around he said, ‘the woman, Louise – she’s not here.’

  A look of concern spread across Girard’s face when he noticed that the housekeeper, Louise, was not amongst Mullah’s little group. Thinking back, he realised that she had not returned from using the toilet and reasoned that she must have escaped through the toilet window. He mentioned this to the Detective Inspector in charge and together they walked around the side of the chateau and discovered the toilet window to have been left wide open. A set of footprints in the grass led to the old World War Two concrete bunker. The door was shut and locked from the inside. Girard called out her name in a taunting voice, ‘Louise, are you there? It’s time to leave.’ But there was no response. He turned to the detective, put a finger across his lips and said quietly, ‘One moment.’

  The detective registered a puzzled expression and watched with curiosity as Girard walked over to a nearby cluster of fruit trees – which grew within an unkempt small orchard. Branches hung low and were sagging, heavy with over-ripe fruit. Girard cast his eyes around the trees and soon found what he was looking for, a dead branch about two metres long, drooping so low that it was almost touching the ground. Snapping it off, he slowly moved towards another tree that had a large oval shaped bees nest suspended from one of its lower branches. Very carefully he expertly reached out with the stick and gently removed the swarming drone hive from its resting place.

  Within a few minutes he was outside the bunker with his buzzing bundle gently singing an old Maurice Chevalier tune, but slightly altering the words, “Every little bee seems to whisper Louise,” much to the amusement of the detective. He called out once more, ‘Are you there, Louise?’ Once again there was no response, so standing on tiptoe, he pushed the nest through the opening. Within seconds, a yell and a terrified scream resounded throughout the concrete bunker and frantic hands scrabbled at the door until suddenly it burst open. The shocked woman stood before the two men with her hands frantically whirling and thrashing about her.

  ‘Ahh! Voila – Louise,’ Girard said in a mocking tone, and extending an introductive hand towards the detective added politely in his best French, ‘may I introduce you to Detective Inspector Laronde?’

  They walked back to the chateau and Louise was bundled into the van with the others.

  Penny was about to accompany the police back to headquarters to give a full statement but, upon seeing Girard, she ran over and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  Beaming widely he sighed heavily and said slowly with some deliberation, ‘I shall never wash that part of my face again.’ And with that, he collapsed onto the ground.

  *

  Daniella slumped deep into the padded bus seat. There was enough breath left in her to produce a sigh of relief. The bus had made a few stops in Hockley and was on its way towards Rayleigh. She felt recovered enough to turn around and glance out of the rear window. There was a thin line of traffic, but five vehicles behind, she clearly saw Bradley’s dark-coloured BMW. Panic almost set in as she thought, “He’s following me.” She delved into her handbag and pulled out her mobile, switched it on and waited until there was a signal. After an agonising spell, she frantically dialled Crane’s number. At last, for the first time, she heard the ringing tone. Whilst waiting for an answer, she turned around again. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Bradley’s car was now immediately behind the bus. As the phone continued to ring she almost said out loud, “Please be there, please answer.” The thoughts raced through her mind until a mechanical voice said, ‘Sorry unable to connect you; please leave a message after the tone.’

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Crane was casually watching sea gulls swooping around the queue of traffic as he sat in his car awaiting customs clearance at Dover. His mobile rang and he picked it up reluctantly, expecting it to be Bradley, ‘Yeah?’ He had missed the call, so he pressed the recall button; it was answered immediately and the voice at the other end raised his spirits.

  ‘Oh, Jack, you’re there, thank goodness. I’ve managed to get away from that maniac. I’m on a bus, but he’s following it. I’ve got to get off it sometime.’

  ‘Whereabouts are you?’

  ‘It’s just gone past a church in a town called Rayleigh.’

  ‘Another two or three stops will bring you more or less outside the Police Station; get off there, go straight inside and wait for me. I’ll be there within an hour and a half.’

  Bradley watched scathingly as Daniella jumped off the bus and ran into the front entrance of Rayleigh Police Station. He circumnavigated around the block of shops and parked his car out of sight in a lay-by. On the opposite side of the road to the police station, he noticed J D Weatherspoons, a pub with tables and chairs set outside on a large forecourt. Within a short space of time, Bradley had found an ideal position from which to observe. His eyes remained fixed on the doorway that Daniella had rushed through and, whilst waiting to be served a drink, he picked up a discarded newspaper and pretended to read.

  After some minutes he fished the mobile from his jacket pocket and dialled Ryan. ‘I’m at the pub opposite the cop shop in Rayleigh. Are you anywhere nearby and if so would you care to join me?’

  Believing that the money due to him from Bradley was at last going to be handed over, a surge of elation swept through Ryan and his response was, ‘I can be there in ten minutes or so.’

  *

  Crane’s right foot was pressed hard down on the accelerator pedal of the old Rover as it tore down the dual carriageway towards the Dartford crossing, a tunnel and bridge system that spans the River Thames connecting Kent to Essex. An inbuilt warning system flashed and sounded on the dashboard which was to give the driver plenty of notice when approaching speed cameras and the car dealer’s warning flashed through Crane’s mind, “It goes like a bastard, I’m not sure this car is legal.”

  The crossing was unusually quiet and he zipped through the tunnel in record time and, before long, he was racing down the Southend Arterial Road towards Rayleigh.

  Daniella sat patiently in the waiting room, situated at the front of the police station. The reception desk was unmanned although it had a hatch and a bell to summon staff. At one stage she was asked if she needed any help, but she declined, saying she was waiting for somebody.

  Ryan crossed the road, weaving his way through constantly streaming traffic. He ordered a drink and sat down at the outside table next to Bradley.

  ‘She’s over there,’ Bradley spouted, nodding with his head.

  Ryan thought he detected an almost maniacal look on Bradley’s face as he replied with some hesitation, ‘Who, Crane’s woman?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘But how?’

  Bradley did not want to go into details, ‘Does it matter? That’s where she is,’ and looking at his watch said, ‘been there about thirty minutes.’

  ‘What you gonna do?’

  Bradley looked at Ryan coldly and said, ‘Not me – you!’

  ‘Me? What can I do?’

  ‘Go inside and, if she is in the waiting room, get her out.’

  Ryan looked askance, ‘You mean just wander into the nick and drag her out?’

  Bradley ignored Ryan’s remark and delved into his jacket pocket, pulled out a narrow box and taking out a hypodermic needle offered it to Ryan, ‘Use this; it’s fast acting.’

  Ryan gaped at the needle wide-eyed, ‘You’ve got to be kidding. I’ll never get anywhere near her. She’ll recognise me straight away, start screaming and I’ll get nabbed.’

  ‘No you won’t.’ Bradley said irritably, ‘Shield your face as you walk in; pretend you’re reading a newspaper, here take mine. It’s the last thing she will expect to happen. Just go inside,
sit down next to her and give her the jab. When she’s sleepy, help her out, like you’re an old friend,’ and with a degree of finality he added, ‘simple as that!’

  Ryan reluctantly took the needle and newspaper, but a plan of his own was forming in his mind as he crossed the road. He knew Bradley would be watching his every move and so he crossed the road and sauntered casually towards the police station. The bullet hole that Crane had put in his foot, was still aching and for Bradley’s sake he was going to make the most of it and exaggerate the limp. He walked past the door, feigning to look in, and after a few yards, using his mobile, called up Bradley. ‘Can’t be done; she’s talking to a copper in there,’ and with that he slowly limped back.

  Bradley’s face looked angry when Ryan rejoined him. He glared at Ryan accusingly, but Ryan had been ready for that and he put on his best disappointed expression, ‘Pity, but there’s nothing you can do. Just have to wait until she comes out.’

  Bradley looked at his watch and said slowly, ‘Have you considered that Crane could be here before much longer; she may have been in touch with him.’

  Ryan looked thoughtful for a moment, ‘We could still lay in wait at his place; you know, get there before him; hide the car at the far end of the lane.’