Skinner's festival

78

The getaway plane stayed where it was. But something else was picked up instead, something much more precious.

'One thing that niggles me, Andy, is not knowing if any of the bastards are still hanging around here.'

It was just over twelve hours since the press briefing. Skinner and Martin were settled in the DCI's office in the Special Branch Suite, going through the mountain of paperwork involved in the winding up of the enquiry. Each had snatched a few hours at home, although Andy had spent much of his break consoling Julia after her frightening experience with the Filmhouse explosion. 'If any of them are still here,' said Martin, 'they're bloody crazy.

That guy in the Royal's going to make it. He's bound to bargain a few years off his sentence in return for telling us everything he knows.'

'Don't count on it. Those were pros. They'll have been well paid for this job, and it probably included something extra for keeping shtum if they got caught. And don't assume that he knows-'

Skinner was interrupted by an internal call on Martin's extension. Being closer to it, he picked it up. 'Skinner.'

The caller was Ruth. 'Sorry to bother you, sir, but I felt I had to. It's a Mr Morris, and he says it's important. It's about Alex.'

'Put him through.'

Skinner had never met the man, but he recognised the name.

Ben Morris was the director of Alex's theatre company.

'What can I do for you, Mr Morris?'

The man hesitated. 'Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know where your daughter might be.'

The first faint chill crept into Skinner's stomach. 'What d'yqu mean?' He didn't realise that he had snapped at the caller, a hard edge suddenly in his voice.

Morris began to splutter. 'Well, it's just that – well last nigt her friend Ingo didn't turn up. Alex didn't know where he'd g0t to. We went on with the show, but without the lighting effects!

It was a bloody disaster. Alex did her best, but I still felt I had to give the audience half their money back. I called their number this morning to find out where the hell he had been, but I got no reply.

So I went round to see them. The landlady said she hadn't seen or heard either of them all day. She let me in with a pass-key, but the place was empty. Not a sign. All his clothes, all of his things were gone. Some of Alex's stuff seemed to be there, but I couldn't see her handbag – you know, that big one she carries everywhere. So can you help me? Are they with you? I've got to know if he's coming back.'

Skinner replaced the receiver without a word.

Martin watched him anxiously as he sat staring chalk-faced at the wall. His first thought was that his boss had experienced some delayed reaction to the night's events.

'What's wrong, Bob?'

The voice which replied was strange, quiet, shaky – unlike anything Martin had heard from him before. 'It's Alex. She's been snatched.' •Eh!'

'That was her director. That guy Ingo didn't show up last night.

Now Alex has disappeared too. Andy,1 knew he was wrong! He's taken her!'

'Steady on, man. She could be anywhere. Maybe he's just done a moonlight on her, and she's down at your place now, crying her eyes out to Sarah.'

Skinner shook his head, feeling cold all over.

'No, Andy. Since last night I've been wondering whether our Mr Black would have a Plan B. Now I know that he has, and I can guess what it is.'