The Missing Hours (36 page)

Then my eyes adjusted.

He was sitting in an armchair, a king without a throne. Had lost weight, so much so that it seemed he had begun to disappear into himself, that one sudden movement and one of those sharp, angular bones would snap. But he was looking at me, smiling, tears rolling down his cheeks.

I could not breathe.

‘Hey, Mogs.’

‘Would you like to follow me?’

I pull in a breath, realise that the bank teller is staring at me, that her internal barometer is shifting back towards crazy again. ‘Of course,’ I manage.

Can only see Ed’s face.

‘We have wasted enough time on this,’ the woman had said shortly. ‘We need to be moving on. We will give you four days to get the payment in place. On the fourth day, we will contact you with a location and a time. I’d encourage you to be there, with the money ready.’

‘I’ll go now,’ I said, not looking at her, only at him.

I wanted to run to him, to put my head in his lap, to have him stroke my hair, to prove to myself that it was real. But there was to be no touching. This was proof of life, after all. Only that.

‘Four days. We will tell you when and where.’

I looked past her, at Ed.

There should be something to say at a moment like this, something that made sense. But there was nothing, only disbelief, and a hope that I had forgotten, and so much fear that it seemed like my entire body would be insufficient to contain it.

‘He’s bleeding.’

It was a small wound, a thin laceration that wrapped its way around his knuckles.

She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘I need to check.’ Inspecting the product for damage, wanting to make sure that you get what you pay for. The absurdity of it clambered across my chest, choking me.

I wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against mine. Otherwise, how would I know that this was not all some unlikely dream?

The woman had made a small noise, a
tcchh
in the back of her throat. Yet still had gestured me forward.

Ed’s eyes never left mine, his lips curled into the tiniest of smiles.

His hand had slotted into mine. Had felt like it had never left. Had grazed the cashmere of my jumper.

My knees threatening to buckle beneath me.

‘It’s so good to see you, Mogs.’

‘You’ve seen. You’ve touched. That’s enough. You have four days.’ She sounded bored. But then that was it, wasn’t it? Just another day at the office for her.

I simply looked at my husband, and looked and looked. ‘Four days,’ I said. To her. To him. ‘It’s time to come home.’

The small room in the bank is closing in on me, the woman stacking notes like she is playing with Lego. She hands me the envelope, the notes forcing it to bulge at the joints. ‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’

I shake my head, attempt to muster a smile. ‘This is all I need.’

I am afraid. I am so afraid. I thought there was nothing left to fear, but now that is no longer true. My heart thrums in my chest, a beat that it cannot possibly sustain, and I walk like I know where I’m going.

I will go home. Check on my girls.

Our girls.

But then I feel the thickness of the money in my pocket and know that I cannot. Seth lied to me. Seth attempted to stop me from doing this. If he were to find out …

I walk confidently through the sliding glass door of the bank.

I cannot take this money home. I cannot tell anyone what I know.

It has begun to rain, a light splutter. The main street is a carousel of umbrellas. I walk through them, not caring that the dampness is beginning to leach through my coat, into my trousers. I head to the train station.

I need to hide the money, somewhere Seth will not know to look.

I walk steadily into the station, take a left at the main desk, spare a second to nod to a security guard and wonder if it is written across my face, the way in which my world has flipped inside out. A bank of lockers lines the far right wall. I put some coins in, slide the envelope inside, secure the door shut.

And pray.

I want to go home. I want to go home so badly that it feels that my skin will slough right off if I do not.

And yet …

Where have I been? What have I done? What the hell am I going to say?

I begin walking, with no real destination in mind. I walk thinking of Ed, of his face, so thin, so unlike himself. His eyes, utterly unchanged.

I’m bringing him home. No matter what I have to do, I am bringing him home.

I think of kidnapping, of the taking of Aria Theaks, of Venezuela and Alexa Elizondo. Of all of the victims I have known.

I begin walking towards the river. Because sometimes you have to lie. No. Not lie. Simply be aware of how you present yourself, in order to serve a greater good.

The only way

DC Leah Mackay: Saturday, 11.13 a.m.

THE RAIN HAS
eased, cascade softening to a thrum. The cold is biting at me, my legs cramping on the chill cottage floor. I study Selena, wonder if she has come to the same conclusion that I have.

She looks up at me, our gazes locking.

‘They’re not coming back, are they?’

I shake my head slowly. ‘I don’t think so. It wouldn’t make sense to return to a place that you have seen.’

‘But the money … the exchange. They texted me, like they said they would. Said I had to come here, now. That Ed …’ She begins to cry again. ‘Ed.’

‘It’s okay, Selena.’ Beck’s voice rolls like thunder. ‘These things happen. You know that. We make it work. We always make it work.’ He hunkers down next to her. ‘Come on. It’s pointless you staying here. We’ll get you home, to your girls. We’ll make contact with the kidnappers, set up a new exchange.’ He smiles, something that until now I hadn’t thought he could do. ‘We’ve got this. Ed’ll be home before you know it.’

I do not think she will move. I think she will sit there, waiting, until time rots away the little that remains of this once-was home. But she takes a breath, straightens her shoulders, nods briefly. I allow myself a moment to be impressed by her, now a widow, now not, taking hit after hit after hit, and each time pulling herself back to her feet.

‘Let’s do it then,’ she says quietly.

Finn and I separate at the door, an agreement reached without words. I climb into the car beside Selena. Is it that I do not trust her not to make a bolt for it again? I’m not sure.

She drives carefully, taking the mountain road with the care of a woman who has children to return to, a husband to bring home.

I sit in silence. So much I want to ask, and yet I say none of it. Could I have survived this? Could I have done what she has done?

The cloud is beginning to lift, the day dull still but the road now visible, the threat of a fiery vehicular death diminished with the increase in light.

I think of my children, waiting at home for me. I think of what I would do to keep my family intact, what I have done. Yes. Yes, I would do what she has done, and more.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ I say quietly.

Selena glances across at me, surprised seemingly by the words, or perhaps by the mere fact that I am there. She nods. ‘Yes. Yes it will.’

We speak little on the return journey, a silence that feels calming, soporific almost. Then, as Selena steers the car into her street, I see her expression change, a steel bar shooting through it.

‘What?’

She nods at the roadway ahead.

I do not see it at first. Just a pointless sports car, its boot open, driver hidden by the height of it. Then the driver moves, and I understand.

Seth.

Selena brakes hard, the door open almost before the car has come to a stop, is out, gone before I am able to react. But still, she is slower than Beck. He darts past her, his car left abandoned in the road behind us, is on Seth in an instant, large hands shoving him up against his expensive car, raising him so that his feet are barely touching the ground.

I sigh heavily. I really don’t want to work another murder. I push open the car door, cover the intervening distance, feeling Finn’s breath on my back.

‘Beck,’ I say. ‘Put him down.’

Seth is panicking, fighting against Beck’s grip, his feet slip-sliding on the wet tarmac. ‘Get off. Get him off me. What the hell?’

‘You sonofabitch,’ Beck growls. ‘You left Ed to die.’

Finn stops beside me, is watching the scene with interest. I nod to him, a silent message – we should do something – and he shrugs expressively, giving me a quick grin.

Men.

‘I didn’t.’ Seth’s voice is clambering up the octaves, panic in full flow now. ‘I swear to God, I didn’t. I was trying to help him. The entire time, I was trying to get him out.’

‘How?’ Selena steps forward, is looking up at Seth, radiating fury. ‘How the hell were you trying to help him?’

‘I …’ Seth’s mouth flaps and he glances at me, at Finn, anything to avoid Selena’s fury.

‘You went to Colombia?’ I offer. ‘When you were supposed to be in New York? You went to Colombia instead.’

‘I thought … if I went there, a show of goodwill, that sort of thing … Can he put me down?’ He is speaking to me, to Finn, but his eyes are locked on Beck, afraid that at any moment he will snap him in two.

‘I’m not sure he can,’ shrugs Finn. ‘You were saying?’

‘I went to Colombia. To try and make contact with them. But they weren’t there, they’d left. I did everything I could. I’m telling you. All I’ve thought about for these last five months has been getting Ed home safe.’

‘You utter arsehole,’ Selena growls. ‘We had insurance. We had the money in our bank account. We could have handed it over, had my husband back, my children’s father, and instead you chose to let me think he was dead. How could you do that? I—’

‘I know, I know …’ He looks at Beck, tries to shrink away from his hands. ‘I did it to protect you. I wasn’t sure. I wanted to be sure first. And then … you were such a wreck, Selena. I thought you’d just compromise the negotiation. So I decided to keep it to myself. Handle it and then tell you when it was done. When I’d rescued him.’

‘So why the hell didn’t you?’ demands Beck. ‘Why didn’t you do your job? Notify the insurance firm, pay the damn ransom.’

‘I … the company …’

‘Fuck the company.’ Selena is shouting now, has stepped forward until her nose almost touches Seth’s. ‘This is my family. This is Ed’s life. How dare you gamble with that?’

I think it is all about to erupt, that Selena is about to streak from suspect to victim to perpetrator, and that Finn and I will be standing here simply watching it unfold, too stunned to prevent it.

Then there is a sound. A door opening.

Selena’s head snaps around.

A blonde head is just visible above the line of the hedge. We all turn, watch it bobbing closer to the gate, and then it is through, and Heather stands on the pavement, watching.

Selena’s face lightens, breaking into a smile, and she turns her back on Seth as if he no longer exists. Walks towards her daughter and scoops her up into her arms.

‘Mummy,’ I hear Heather say. ‘Where were you? Auntie Orla said you’d gone shopping, but I was worried.’

‘I’m sorry, my love. I’m back now.’

They vanish inside the house, leaving us, our little tableau, frozen in time.

‘Beck,’ says Finn. ‘If you wouldn’t mind putting Mr Britten down now, I’d like to have a quick word with him. There’s the small matter of lying to the police and a dead solicitor to wrap up.’

Seth’s mouth drops open.

Beck looks at us, seems to be pondering whether we can be trusted with the weight of this task, and then steps aside. ‘Keep him. I have a negotiation to conduct.’

The Kidnapping of Ed Cole

Ed Cole

I had planned to sleep. Selena had laughed. Who comes to Brazil to sleep in? She said that I was getting old. Privately I agreed with her. I lay in bed, watching her get ready to go shopping.

Now, looking back on it, I wish that I could say I was thinking something profound – that I had looked at my wife and thought that she was the most beautiful woman on the planet (which she is), that I was the luckiest man alive (which I am). In all honesty, I watched Mogs getting ready and wished that she would hurry, spent those long minutes mentally calculating the time I had left to sleep, wishing her away.

You have no idea how much those wishes would come back to haunt me in the months that followed.

I waited, impatient for my wife, my love, my best friend to get the hell out of our hotel room and let me sleep. Then, once she had gone, finally, I lay there staring at the ceiling.

We were almost done in Brasilia. Our time was almost over. And there remained so much left to do. So many meetings, so much advertising. Because that’s what it is at these things. A bunch of people who all do something that few other people do, moving around one another, being seen. Because if you’re seen in amongst them, somehow you become one of them.

We were doing well, in all aspects. Selena and I. The company. The kids. It was all working as it should.

And the most profound thing I can find to say to you now is that all of that, you only see it once it is gone and you are locked in a dark, damp cell, wondering if you will ever see the sunlight again.

I gave up trying to sleep in the end. Got up, took a shower.

It’s strange, the things that come to matter. In the months that followed, I was always grateful that I took that last hot shower in a surgically clean hotel room, with good soap, warm towels. I just wish I’d had breakfast.

The attack itself. That started before it started, if you know what I mean.

I had dressed, was just pulling on my shoes when there was a knock on the door. Afterwards, there would be anger that I didn’t react better, that my situational awareness didn’t warn me that something was wrong, that life was about to go deeply wonky for a while. But I’m going to be honest with you here, it didn’t.