Bring Him Back

8

Back in his digs across town, Ben threw open the window, leaned out and lit a Gauloise. He washed the first deep draw of smoke down with a sip from his whisky flask to quell the last of the adrenaline rush still pumping around his system. There was a small shard of glass in his hair. He picked it carefully out and laid it on the windowsill, gazing thoughtfully at it and trying to understand what the hell was going on.

The anomalies were stacking up. There were more questions than answers, but one thing was for sure: this case was about more than just a kidnapping. If Drew Hunter had sent in a bunch of heavies to take Ben down, it could only be for one reason: to stop him from finding out too much about whatever business Hunter had had with the private detective. But what, and why?

Ben was as expert at following people as he was at telling when he was being followed himself — and he was certain he hadn’t been. Yet somehow, Hunter had known where to find him. The man was full of surprises. Was he also behind Paul Finley’s death? It was a worrying thought. If Hunter was a killer as well as an abductor, then Carl might be in more danger than anyone, even Ben, had anticipated.

More certain than ever that the files of Finley & Reynolds held an important key to all this, he resolved not to leave Dover until he knew more. And when he returned there the following night he’d be ready for the unexpected.

Ben awoke the next morning knowing that today was going to be a waiting game. He gulped down breakfast and then spent a while in his room, going over his case notes in an attempt to make sense of them. Around lunchtime, he returned to the beach, biding his time, quietly smoking, watching the tide. Waiting was a skill he’d perfected in the SAS. He’d learned how to remain still for long periods, outwardly so calm that an observer might think he was in a trance — while mentally he was ultra-alert, aware of everything around him and analysing a thousand details at once.

It was afternoon when his phone rang. It was Jessica, sounding in a high state of agitation. ‘Where are you?’

‘Still in Dover,’ he replied. ‘Something came up.’

Strange that she didn’t seem interested to ask what, he thought. In the next moment, he understood why.

‘We heard from Carl.’

Ben’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, heard from him? When?’

‘He phoned us. Just half an ago.’

‘You talked to him?’

‘No,’ she groaned. ‘We weren’t here. We were only gone twenty minutes, to get some shopping because there wasn’t a scrap of food left in the house. When we got back, there was a message on the answer machine. We’d only just missed him. We tried calling the number back but it didn’t come up. It sounded like a mobile.’

‘He didn’t say where he was calling from?’

‘He wasn’t on the line long enough. We called the police right away. They’re working on tracing the call. Ben, you’ve got to get back here.’

This changed everything.

‘I’m on my way,’ he said.

‘The police just left a few minutes ago,’ Jessica told him when he arrived at the house just over three hours later. He wasn’t entirely sorry to hear that he’d missed them. Cops were as uneasy in his presence as he felt in theirs. It wasn’t a harmonious relationship he had with them, never had been, never would be.

‘There have been developments since I called you,’ she said. Jumpy with contained excitement, she led him into a huge, plush living room where a phone sat on a low table. Moments later, Mike joined them. ‘Ben, thank Christ you’re here. Sorry we had to call you back from Dover so urgently, but under the circumstances…’

‘What’s happening?’

‘Since we called you earlier, lots. The mobile number turned out to be a foreign one. Interpol are involved now. They’ve traced the phone’s owner. It’s registered to a man called Barberini. Gianni Barberini. Apparently, he’s a doctor in Turin.’

‘A dermatologist,’ Jessica corrected him.

‘What do the police make of it?’ Ben asked.

‘They seem as baffled by it as we are,’ Mike replied. ‘Last we heard, they were still trying to track down this Dr Barberini’s whereabouts. He’s not at home. They said he was away at some conference, or something. We’ve been waiting for more. And hoping you could make sense of this.’

‘Let me hear the message,’ Ben said.

Mike replayed it from the answerphone. The line was a bad one, with an echo and lots of background noise. ‘Mum? It’s me,’ said a boy’s voice.

‘That’s definitely him?’ Ben asked Jessica, and she gave a quick, certain nod.

‘Mum, I’m …I’m okay,’ Carl blurted, speaking in hesitant snatches over the background noise, which sounded to Ben like voices, as if the boy had been calling from the middle of a crowd of people. But there was another noise too, distorted and hard to identify. A kind of screech, followed by what sounded like a muffled bang. Ben couldn’t make it out at all.

‘I just wanted to say …I love you, mum. I—’ Carl’s voice was lost for a second amid some kind of commotion. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said suddenly. And there the message ended.

Jessica was looking fraught and gnawing at her thumb. ‘That’s all there is,’ Mike said anxiously. ‘What do you make of it, Ben?’

‘It’s definitely some kind of public place,’ Ben said. ‘Indoors, and crowded. A bar, maybe, or a café. But that other sound …let me hear it again.’

Mike replayed the message. Ben closed his eyes, concentrating hard on the strange noises in the background. They seemed to be coming from further away, which meant they must have been pretty loud. ‘What is that?’ he muttered to himself.

‘The police think it might be fireworks,’ Jessica said. ‘The high-pitched screech, then the loud bang. What else makes a sound like that?’

‘Maybe,’ Ben said. ‘But in the middle of the day?’

‘They have technicians working on it,’ Mike said. ‘Apparently they can separate out the frequencies or something, and use filters to clean them up.’

Ben looked at his watch. It was getting late, but there was still time if he hurried. He pulled out his car key.

‘Where are you going?’ Mike asked.

‘Italy,’ Ben said.