Sight Unseen

TWENTY-EIGHT

When they left Greve de Lecq next morning, Umber shunned the obvious route back to St Helier, preferring to head east and approach it from the north, across the middle of the island. There was no good reason for such an elaborate precaution. They would only really be in danger of discovery once they were in St Helier. And there was no way of avoiding that danger if he was to retrieve his statement.

But the danger, he assured Chantelle, was actually minimal. It was just too soon for the police to have thought of contacting Burnouf. And Waldron's associates had no reason to. It was a simple errand, swiftly and easily accomplished. Nothing would go wrong.

That did not stop him telling Chantelle what to do if something did go wrong, however. They sat in the car in the Pier Road multi-storey, facing a concrete wall in the gloom of one of the lower floors, as nine o'clock ticked round. She had said she would not go alone. But the contingency Umber was determined to prepare her for was one in which she would have no choice in the matter.

'If I'm not back by ten, leave without me. Take the Juniuses with you and get off the island any way you can. Go to London. Phone this woman.' He passed her Claire Wheatley's card. 'There's a mobile number on the back. Claire was Sally's psychotherapist. You can trust her. Tell her everything. She'll know what to do for the best.'

'But you will be back by ten, won't you?'

'I fully intend to be.'

'So, no need to worry, then.'

'None at all.' He scraped off the time on the parking paycard and propped it on the dashboard. 'I'll see you soon.' Then he gave her a parting smile and climbed out of the car.

It was only a few minutes' walk down Pier Road and along Hill Street to Le Templier & Burnouf. The receptionist was drinking coffee and sorting through the post when Umber arrived and took a while to absorb the message that he wanted the envelope he had left with Burnouf back and he wanted it now. She rang Burnouf on the internal line and he agreed to spare Umber five minutes.

Five minutes was as long as Umber wanted to spare Burnouf, as it happened, though he did not say so. The ever placid solicitor was still on the internal phone, instructing the receptionist to fetch the envelope from the safe, when Umber hurried into his office.

'Thank you, Janet.' Burnouf rang off. 'Good morning, Mr Umber. Bright and early, I see.'

'Sorry to burst in on you. I, er… well, there's been a…'

'Promising development?'

'No.' Umber was temporarily nonplussed. 'What made you think that?'

'Well, you left your… statement… with me as a precaution, so I understood. Retrieving it suggests precautions are no longer necessary.'

'I've… changed my mind about it. That's all.'

'I see.'

'I'm allowed to do that, aren't I?'

'Of course. It's just…' Burnouf frowned. 'Mr Sharp reappears before the magistrates this morning. I tried to reach you at the Pomme d'Or to discuss his prospects, but they said you'd checked out.'

Umber smiled weakly. 'I found somewhere cheaper.'

'Do you still wish me to say nothing to him about your activities on his behalf?'

'I'll leave that for you to decide.'

'Really? You seem, if I may -' There was a tap at the door. The receptionist came in with the taped and sealed envelope. She delivered it to Burnouf and left. 'Thank you, Janet,' he called after her.

'There's the receipt,' said Umber, whipping it out of his pocket and placing it on the desk. 'May I?' He held out his hand.

'By all means.' Burnouf passed him the envelope. 'There's space on the receipt for you to confirm retrieval. Would you mind signing?' He proffered a pen. Umber signed. 'Leaving Jersey, Mr Umber?'

'Did I say I was?'

'No. It's just… an impression I have.'

'I'll be in touch.'

'What about the Halls? Will you be in touch with them?'

'Sorry?'

'Jeremy Hall's suicide prompted a lot of publicity. One of the newspaper articles I read mentioned a previous suicide by someone linked with the Avebury case. Sally Umber. Not a common surname. Not common at all. I took a flick through the archives. Found you – and Mr Sharp. I visited him yesterday and asked him about it.'

'What did he say?'

'Nothing. Absolutely nothing.'

'Well, that's my line too.'

'I rather thought it might be. Though whether the police will be content with it…'

'The police?'

'They're bound to follow up the connection sooner or later. I wondered if that was why… you'd called in this morning.' Burnouf glanced pointedly at the envelope in Umber's hand.

'Thanks for this,' Umber said stiffly. 'I've got to go.' He turned and made for the door, but before he reached it something stopped him. He looked back at Burnouf. 'Perhaps you could pass a message to George for me after all.'

'I'd be happy to.'

Tell him… it isn't over.'

How Sharp would take such a message Umber did not know. His thoughts were fixed now on getting himself and Chantelle off Jersey as quickly as possible. He hurried out of Le Templier & Burnouf and started back the way he had come, glancing at his watch as he went. It had just turned half past nine. He was comfortably on schedule. His gaze returned to the street ahead.

And he found himself looking into the eyes of Percy Nevinson.

'David! Well, well, well.' Nevinson beamed at him. 'How very nice to see you. And how very unexpected.'

Umber's heart sank. Silently but eloquently, he cursed his luck. 'Percy, I -'

'We shouldn't be too surprised, though. This is a small island. And I assume we're bound for the same destination this morning.'

'Where might that be, Percy?'

'The magistrates' court.' Nevinson winked. 'Mr Sharp's hearing. It should prove interesting, I think. Of course, you may be able to tell me how he finds himself in such a position. The gamekeeper poached, so to speak. Why don't we step in somewhere for a cup of coffee? You can fill me in on the background.'

'Sorry. I'm in a rush. Can't stop.'

'Well, I'll walk with you and we can talk as we go. You see, I can hardly believe Mr Sharp's predicament is unconnected with the latest tragedy to strike the Hall family. Jeremy Hall's suicide is actually what prompted me to come to Jersey. I imagine you can tell me a good deal about that as well, if you've a mind to.'

'But I don't have a mind to, Percy. That's the point. Get out of my way.'

Nevinson bridled. 'There's no need to take that tone.'

'Oh but there is. Now I -'

The events of the next few seconds were compressed into a bewildering jumble in Umber's mind. The flank of a white Transit van appeared suddenly at the edge of his vision. The vehicle bounced up onto the pavement and lurched to a halt a few inches from him, the side-door sliding open fast as it did so. He was grabbed from behind by someone on the pavement, his arms pinned to his sides, the envelope plucked from his hand. A second figure loomed above him and grasped his shoulders. Then he was hoisted off his feet and into the van.

He was face down on an oily blanket covering the floor as the door slammed shut. Two men, strong enough to handle him like a child, were above and around him. There was a shout of 'Go!' then the van surged forward, left the pavement with a jolt and accelerated away. Umber could see the thick neck and shaven head of the driver through the wire-mesh screen between him and the cab.

It was to be no more than a glimpse. His head was yanked up. A blindfold was slung across his eyes. The cloth pressed painfully into them as the knot was fastened. He cried out. But the cry was stifled by a strip of duct tape, slapped across his mouth and pressed tight against his skin. His hands were crushed together behind his back, then cords twined round his wrists and tightened. He tried to struggle up, but a boot descended heavily on his neck, forcing him down again.

Then came a rasping voice close to his ear. 'Lie still or we'll break every fucking bone in your body.'

They were on the road for about half an hour, Umber estimated. His shock faded slightly, but his fear only increased. Reasoning as best he could, he deduced they had been following Nevinson in the hope he would lead them to Umber, as, by pure and malign chance, he had. Nevinson had presumably been left to goggle at the departing van. He was not important. They had got the man they wanted. But what they meant to do with him he did not know. All he knew for certain was that he did not want to find out. The only consolation he had to hold on to was that they had struck too soon. He might have led them to Chantelle if they had held off. But they did not know about her. That was his only advantage. And he had to make the most of it.

Eventually, the van came to a halt. The engine died. The side-door slid open. He was pulled upright and bundled into the open air. He felt the coolness of it against his skin at once. The wind stirred his hair. There was stony ground beneath his feet. 'Start walking' came the instruction. He was frogmarched forward. They covered about twenty yards. He heard a burble of conversation nearby, but could not catch the words. Then: 'Get in the car.' He was pushed through an open car doorway, a hand pressing down his head to clear the frame. The door clunked shut behind him.

He could smell new leather and a residue of cigar smoke. There was an arm-rest to his left. With his hands tied behind him, he had to lean forward slightly in his seat. He sensed there was someone beside him. He heard an envelope being torn open. There was a rustling of paper. A few minutes of silence followed. Then the man beside him spoke, in a soft, moist, sticky tone, as if he was sucking a toffee.

'Listen to me carefully, Mr Umber. I'm going to offer you a deal. And you're going to accept it. That's the way it is. That's the way it has to be. We want Cherie. Or Chantelle, as I gather she calls herself now. You're the only one who's seen her recently. The only one alive, anyway. So, you know what she looks like these days. And we believe you can find her for us. We could persuade you to tell us what you know about her and go after her ourselves, but we're concerned about our profile. It's been worryingly high lately. So, you get the job. Congratulations. There's a time limit, naturally. Three days. I'm going to put a card in your pocket.' Umber felt something being slipped into his shirt pocket. 'There's a telephone number on it. Ring us by noon on Friday with details of where and when we can collect the girl. In return, we'll arrange for a reliable witness to tell the police he saw the drugs being planted on Sharp's van and we'll refrain from sending them this incriminating document you've kindly supplied us with. We cleaned up after you at the flat in St Aubin, but there's a body waiting to be found in an abandoned car at Noirmont Point which fingerprints and DNA would tie you to for certain if the police were pointed in the right direction. Wisby's likely to throw all sorts of accusations your way. You really do need to be in a position to refute them. There'd be other kinds of retribution if you defied us, of course. For you and Ms Wheatley and Ms Myers. And we'd find Cherie in the end anyway, so you and your friends would be sacrificed in vain. But I don't need to spell it all out for you, do I? You're an intelligent man. You can see there's no choice. It's open and shut. So, just nod your head to confirm we have a deal. That's all you have to do. That and deliver the girl, of course.' There was a pause. 'Well?'

A moment slowly passed. Then Umber nodded.

'Thank you, Mr Umber. It's been a pleasure doing business with you.'

A signal of some kind must have been given. The car door opened and he was pulled out. His captors led him back to the van, loaded him aboard and dumped him, as before, face down on the floor. They set off once more.

It was a shorter drive this time, or perhaps it merely seemed so to Umber, who no longer feared for his life, at least in the short term. The knowledge that he would soon be set free relaxed him to a degree.

The van made slower going as the journey continued. At one point, it stopped and reversed to the sound of roadside branches scraping against the bodywork, then went on again, as if passing another vehicle in a narrow lane. Eventually, it pulled over and came to a halt, with the engine running. The side-door slid open. Umber was hauled into a sitting position in the doorway, his feet resting on the ground. 'Stand up,' he was told. He did so. 'Take one step forward.' He did that too. Then his hands were untied, the door slid shut behind him and the van pulled away, accelerating hard.

By the time Umber had released the blindfold and his eyes had adjusted to the light, the van was out of sight. He was standing a few feet from a five-bar gate into a field. On the other side of the gate a herd of Jersey cattle were grazing contentedly on rich green pasture. One of them cast him a mildly curious glance, then returned her attention to the grass. Even the cry he gave as he pulled the strip of tape away from his mouth did not distract her further.

Umber started walking along the lane in the direction the van had taken, reasoning fuzzily that a main road was likely to be closer ahead then behind. His throat was dry, his lips were sore from the tape, his eyes were aching from constriction by the blindfold and the wound on the back of his head was throbbing. One of his knees was also paining him, having taken some kind of knock while he was being bundled into the van in St Helier.

Unfortunately, none of these discomforts had the merit of taking his mind off the deal he had notion-ally struck. He was lost in the Jersey countryside and part of him would have been happy to stay lost. Within three days, he was required to betray Chantelle to her pursuers, something he had no intention of doing. But what was he to do instead? Who was he to betray in her place? He plucked the card he had been given out of his pocket and looked at the number printed on it. There was no clue to be found there, no message but the one already conveyed to him, calmly, clearly and implacably. An answer was required of him by Friday. And only one kind of answer would suffice.