Dead or Alive (34 page)

‘We pong a lot,' said James. ‘Some policemen came and got us out. I thought I saw a man coming to kill us but it was a copper with a gun.'

‘Oh you poor, poor darlings,' wept their mother.

‘I bet Dad's a bit poorer now,' said James. ‘Did he pay them a load of dosh?'

‘Yeah, how much did we cost him?' asked Milly, eager to know their value. ‘I bet it was a million.'

‘I bet it was more,' said James.

Dumbstruck, her lips quivering, Juliet took her daughter in her arms and knew that she was real, not a mirage. Here was her daughter and there was her son. A bit worse for wear but she'd got her babies back – and James was right, they did pong.

Two policewomen appeared in the doorway. They had sent the children in first to give their mother a nice surprise. They were now concerned that it might have been a bad idea. It appeared that the mother was in shock.

‘No money was paid,' called out one of them, in an effort to alleviate this delirious trauma they'd imposed on Juliet. ‘The kidnapper and his gang have been arrested. The children have had a hard time, I'm afraid.'

‘Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.' Juliet was now holding on to both of her children.

‘Does their father know?' asked Eliza.

‘He should be finding out round about now.'

Juliet's face was contorted with confusion. Her bleak world had spun around in the space of a minute. The sun had come out from behind a black cloud and she was ill-prepared for this sudden sunshine. She looked up at the two policewomen. ‘Please, I … I've got my babies back. I don't know what to do …
Have
I got them back?'

‘Yes, Mrs Strathmore, of course you have.'

‘Mum, we're not babies,' said James.

‘Of course you're not, darling.' To the officers she said, ‘I er … I'd like my husband here. Can you bring him here, please? He's in hospital but I think he'll want to be here.'

‘It might be as well to take you and the children to him. They need to be checked over in a hospital. In fact they're not in the best of health so they might have to stay there for a time.'

‘Oh,' said Juliet, still unsure of how much authority she had in all this. ‘Can I come with them, please?'

‘We insist on it. If they're kept in you'll be able to stay with them.'

‘Thank you. I think they'll both need a shower first, and some clean clothes.'

‘We really need to take them as they are, Mrs Strathmore, so that our FME can make an assessment of their treatment at the hands of the kidnappers. They'll have to be photographed as well, but by all means bring spare clothes. They can shower and dress in the hospital.'

‘Am I allowed to feed them?'

‘Of course you are.'

‘Fish and chips,' said James.

‘And scraps,' added Milly.

‘I'll nip out to the chippy and get us all some,' said Eliza. She looked around at everybody. ‘Fish and chips six times?'

Six nods.

‘Don't forget my scraps,' said Milly. ‘I need building up.'

‘I'll ring the hospital and make the arrangements,' said the police officer.

‘Have I really got my babies back?' said Juliet.

‘We're not babies, Mum,' said James. ‘Not any more.'

S
ep stood on the door step, making no move to go through the door his wife had just opened to his knock.

‘I won't come in, Rachel.'

‘Too right you won't come in. This is my house, or it will be when our divorce comes through.'

Sep had made a point of visiting the hair solutions man before he paid this visit to his wife. He was wearing a new blazer he'd just bought from Marks and Spencer along with appropriate trousers, shirt and tie. Sep was looking respectable, some might say handsome – at a stretch. Jimmy Lennon was history. Behind him he had parked his other recent acquisition, a gleaming one year old, Jaguar XK in bright red, the same colour as his beloved Audi. He had told himself that he wasn't presenting himself to her at his best to show her what she was missing – but he hadn't convinced himself.

‘I think,' he said, ‘that you'll find there's a bit of a snag with that. In fact, the house might end up all mine.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Well, your ex-boyfriend has been arrested for perverting the course of justice, among many other things. He was involved in the kidnapping of the Strathmore children and he was in the pocket of one of the biggest gangsters in Yorkshire.'

‘You mean Lenny Cope?'

‘Who else? He'll go down for ten years – if he's lucky.'

Phoebe came to the door and stood behind her mother with bitterness in her eyes, which Sep couldn't help but notice.

‘Why the nasty look, Phoebe?'

‘It's because I'll never forgive you for hurting Mummy.'

‘But I
didn't
hurt Mummy, darling. I'm afraid that was something Mummy cooked up with Lenny. It was Lenny who hurt her just to blame it on me.' He returned his attention to his wife. ‘He's admitted it, Rachel. In fact it's the least of his worries. I'm just curious as to why you went along with it.'

‘Is this true, Mummy?'

Rachel didn't answer because she had no answer. ‘Yes, it's true,' said Sep,' and I'm not too impressed with you, young lady, in believing I could do such a nasty thing. Perhaps your mother can explain to you why she did it.'

‘Leave her out of this,' said Rachel.

‘Why?
You
didn't leave her out of it.
You
made her believe I beat you up.'

Rachel glared at him. ‘What's this nonsense about the snag with the divorce and you getting the house?'

Sep gave a shrug. ‘Well, in the divorce papers you swore an affidavit saying I assaulted you, which wasn't true, and which means you committed perjury. So you could go to jail for perjury and I could end up with the house.'

‘What?' screamed Phoebe. ‘Daddy, you can't send Mummy to jail!'

‘He's talking nonsense, darling, as usual.'

‘I'm not, actually, as you well know. Phoebe, it was Lenny Cope who gave your mummy all those nasty bruises, darling. He's admitted to beating her and persuading her to blame it on me. And Mummy told a lie on what's called an oath, which is a very naughty lie in the eyes of the law.'

‘I don't want Mummy to go to jail.'

‘Well, Mummy shouldn't have told such horrible lies about me, Phoebe. She made you hate me, didn't she?'

‘I bet
you
could stop Mummy going to jail.'

‘Maybe I could, I don't know.'

From one step below her, Sep looked up at his wife. Her good looks were turning on her, turning her into something hard. Perhaps her face was punishing her for her behaviour towards him, or was that just wishful thinking? He had no means of punishing her without hurting Phoebe. In fact he knew he'd do his damnedest to get Rachel off a perjury charge.

He wondered if he had ever loved her, or had he simply been in love with her good looks and the easy sex she put his way before they were married? He wouldn't be the first young man to fall for that. Then the sex dried up and all he was left with was her. It was Phoebe who'd kept him at home. But none of this explained why she'd lied about him hitting her … unless. Oh, God you're so thick, Sep Black! Of course that's why.

‘Rachel, I didn't think things were so bad between us for you to do that to me. Why did you do it? Was it because he was a posh cop from London who promised you a better life? You turn up at the station with a battered face and blame me so my colleagues would turn on me. That MP dying at my hands must have been a real bonus for you and Cope. Dead MP and a battered wife. Game set and match to you two, eh?'

The expression on her face told him he was near the truth. For Phoebe's sake he kept his voice low and restrained. Just a man having an everyday conversation with his wife.

‘I'm right, aren't I? Rachel, he didn't want you. All he was doing was trying to destroy my good reputation because I knew how corrupt he was, and I was telling everybody down at the nick about him. They all fell for
his
story because he was trained in that sort of propaganda, and so did you, but I'm married to you so I was entitled to expect better from you. Now you're about to end up with an ex-husband who wants nothing to do with you and an ex-boyfriend whose about to do very serious time for abducting children – among many other pending charges.'

Phoebe smiled up at him. ‘You said you'd catch up with him, Daddy, I remember you saying that.'

‘Do you, darling? I'm glad you remember that.'

Rachel burst into tears, turned and ran into the house. Sep looked at his daughter and said, ‘Your mummy's been very silly darling. Sometimes grown-ups do silly things that can never be explained, but if she ever explains it to you, perhaps you'll explain it to me.'

‘Daddy, are you going to stop being my daddy?'

‘What? Never in a million years. I'll always be your daddy and I'll be there whenever you need me and if I do end up with the house, you and Mummy will always be able to live here, although I'll decide who else gets to live here – and it won't be the likes of Lenny Cope.'

‘I didn't much like him, Daddy. Please don't let them send Mummy to jail.'

‘I'll do what I can, Phoebe.'

Phoebe summoned up a tearful smile. ‘That means you
will
do it. I love you, Daddy.'

‘Well, that's probably all I came to hear. I love you, Phoebe. Bye darling, take care of your mummy, she'll need you.'

The faces of James and Milly stared out at Charlie Bickerdike as he picked up his Yorkshire Evening Post. Where the hell had he seen them before? He'd been wondering what all the police commotion in his street had been about, with them taping off the old church hall across the road. He hadn't asked them; associating with the police had never done him any good. Then he read the names, James and Millicent Strathmore … Strathmore? Where had he heard that name before? Jesus! It was them two scruffy tykes who'd come knocking at his door the other night. They said they'd been kidnapped or some such bollocks, and here it says they
had
been kidnapped and there'd been a reward out for anyone helping find them. Twenty five thousand pound reward, and he could have had it. There was a knock at his door. He went to open it, this time deciding he'd be more civil. It was a young woman, smartly dressed and smiling.

‘Mr Charles Bickerdike?'

‘That's me, who are you?'

‘My name is Suzanne Hogan, I'm with the
Daily Mail
and I wonder if I might ask you a few questions about the Strathmore children who were kidnapped and held in the church hall cellar over there.'

‘Why should I know anything?'

‘Well … this is number 17, isn't it?'

‘It is.'

‘Good, according to the children they actually escaped from the church hall and were recaptured by their kidnappers, but before this happened they knocked on your door and asked for help.'

‘They didn't ask for anything.'

‘Did they tell you who they were?'

‘Mebbe … an' some nonsense about bein' kidnapped.'

‘They said that, rather than help them, you swore at them and you shut the door on them. I'm just wondering why you did that, considering there was a twenty five thousand pound reward, which would have been yours.'

‘Same reason as I'm shuttin' the fuckin' door on you, love.'

As the door slammed in her face Suzanne stood there and smiled at the number 17. ‘I trust I can quote you on that, Mr Bickerdike.'

A police car pulled up alongside her and a uniformed sergeant got out. ‘You the papers?' he asked.

‘Yes.
Daily Mail
.'

‘Have you just talked to him?'

‘Well it wasn't much of a talk, but yes. His name's Bickerdike.'

‘We know that. I think I'll see what Mr Bickerdike's got to say for himself.'

‘Oh, good. I'll listen in, if I may.'

The sergeant shrugged, ‘Suit yourself. I just want to give him a good bollocking. Two kiddies in obvious distress come knocking on his door needing help and he slams it on 'em.'

‘Is he known to you?'

‘Yes, he's what you might call a recidivist – if you can spell it.'

Suzanne had already written the word down in shorthand. This was an angle that would give her story even more human interest than it had already. Readers loved to hate the Mr Bickerdikes of this world. The man might end up having to move out of the street, but what the hell? It was no more than he deserved.

There was a rare knock on Sep's door. It could have been a meter reader or someone trying to sell him something, but it wasn't.

‘I came to see Jimmy Lennon. Is he not at home?'

‘Never heard of him.'

‘How're the hell are you doin', Septimus? You're certainly looking smart, without all that hair. Clean shirt as well.'

‘I'm doing OK, Winifred.'

‘Gotcha job back?'

‘Not yet. I'm due to see the super tomorrow.'

‘Divorced yet?'

‘Nope.'

‘So you're still married to that liar and you still haven't got a job. How come you're doin' OK?'

‘My daughter loves me, I'm still alive, I've got my reputation back, I've got my bike back, I'm allowed back in the Sword and Slingshot and I've been paid for my private-eye services.'

‘Strathmore paid up?'

‘He insisted on it. In fact I qualified for the twenty five thousand pound reward as well – me being a civilian. I put that towards my new car.'

‘
Towards
it?' She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at the Jaguar. ‘Is that it?'