Turning Point (21 page)

‘Scott, wanted for murder? When did this all happen?'

‘Last night, Dad. That's what we wanted to tell you. Someone blew up the cottage. Tash heard it on the radio. They found a body.'

Doug Randal put up a hand. ‘Hang on a minute, Travers! One thing at a time. Go on, Mary… '

Mary nodded painfully. ‘If what you say is true and the house is bugged… ' She looked appealingly at Doug who nodded back slowly. ‘Then we've put someone else in danger too.'

Doug heaved a sigh. ‘What a mess! But if you want out, just say so.'

Travers smiled possessively down at her and folded his hand over hers. ‘I'm so lucky to have you.'

‘I know, so don't push it,' she retorted.

‘This little problem is all to do with the monarchists,' Doug said. ‘I've been a member for years but quietly so, very low profile. In the past year or so, prominent party members have found their phones bugged.' He picked up a plastic torch, the same size as a Cuban cigar tapering at one end into a steel probe, and waved it in the air. ‘They bought this piece of kit from the States. I got one, too, in case. If a phone is bugged, it's so sensitive it picks up the electronic signal and buzzes. I rang to speak to your mother, to tell her where I was… When I heard the buzz, I put it down sharpish and didn't try again.'

‘Dad!'

‘It's okay, Travers – you weren't to know. So tell me about Scott. What happened?' He looked up. ‘Give me a moment; I need to talk to your mother… alone.'

Travers glanced up, seeing Natasha and their mother coming down the path, his mother's expression cold and distant. He watched Doug leap onto the little jetty and, taking her arm, walk her back down the path.

Natasha came into the cabin. ‘Oh Lordy, Lordy! There's going to be one-hell of a row. If Mum wasn't furious before, she is now. Dad'll get both barrels. By the time she's finished, he'll wish he'd never been born.'

‘Never going to happen.' Travers glanced out of the window. ‘Not when Mum knows what's really going on.'

‘What?'

‘Our house is bugged.' He held up the small gadget. ‘And this is an electronic bug finder. Dad was in the middle of telling us about it. That's why he didn't phone.'

‘You mean the police? Oh my God! That didn't take long.'

‘You heard about the house then,' Catherine called out as she climbed aboard, Doug following her. ‘It's like discovering we're infested with fleas.' She shuddered. ‘I don't think I'll ever want go back in.'

‘Travers, get the ropes.' Doug took the wheel, switching on the ignition.

Travers raced back onto the little wooden jetty, quickly casting off the bow rope before jumping aboard again. He coiled the rope neatly wondering how much of their story his dad knew already. And what he'd been up to for the past twenty-four hours. His mother hadn't said a word but he'd like to bet, during the past few minutes his dad had confided in her.

The powerful vessel gathered speed, surging across the bay and tossing water aside as if it was a combine harvester reaping gossamer strands of hay. The day remained overcast, the white of the hull luminous against the sullen grey of the waves moving steadily under a light wind.

‘Scott should have stayed put,' Doug said as Travers came to the end of their story.

‘Told you,' Natasha chanted.

‘I never said he shouldn't,' Travers protested. ‘But where? I mean… even our boathouse wasn't safe, according to you, Dad. And no one could have survived the night in a bullet-ridden car. They'd have perished. If we'd tried for a hotel, he'd have been picked up straight-off, and it was way too risky to bring him back here.'

‘Is Bill's four-by-four still at the lake,' his father asked.

Travers nodded.

‘Remind me on Monday to get it picked up.' Doug stared thoughtfully through the glass windscreen, the tailored shape of the hull giving a smooth ride through the vigorous swell. ‘I can understand them wanting to kidnap Scott to get at Bill. But why try to kill him?'

‘He thought it might be the conversation he overheard at the UN,' Natasha said.

‘I forgot that bit, sis.'

‘
What conversation?
'

‘Scott wanted to listen to his dad's speech. According to him, he picked up the headphones and all he got was this two-way conversation about the destruction of Europe.'

‘That's it, Travers. A bit feeble, isn't it?'

‘I thought like you, Dad, at first. How could a couple of guys gossiping on the phone be that important?' Natasha agreed. ‘I changed my mind after Scott told us that someone had tried to kill him in Geneva. They tried again two days later outside the school, only Tulsa saved him. And… well, you know what happened then.'

‘So he saw or heard something he shouldn't,' Doug said in a thoughtful voice.

‘The same thing happened with Wesley,' Mary added. ‘We told him about Scott and he freaked.'

Travers got to his feet. ‘Dad, do you have any food on board?'

‘Honestly, Travers.'

‘Thinking makes me hungry,' he protested to his mother.

‘Tell me about it, I brought you up, remember.'

‘Do you, Dad?'

The stories had taken some time to tell and they were nearing the far shore, dark grey smudges dissolving into individual polka dots before taking on the colour, shape, and form of waterside buildings. Doug eased back on the throttle, slowing their approach. ‘Cheese and biscuits, and there's crisps in the cupboard. Otherwise, if you can't wait for lunch, use the microwave. There's lasagne in the deep freeze.'

Nodding, Travers got to his feet ferreting about the cupboards. He pulled out packs of crisps, passing them round. ‘If we really are going to have lunch, I'll hang on.' He leaned against the cupboard, its door fitted with locks that stayed shut even in a force eight gale. His father was listening intently to the story of Jameson's disappearance, asking questions – good questions. Yet Scott's problems hadn't seemed to faze him. Travers started, his gaze raking his father's face.
It didn't bother him because he already knew about it.
He stared at his father, wondering how involved he was and in what.

‘Dad, any chance you have Sean Terry's number? We tried Beau but he isn't answering.'

‘I can find it. But I daren't use it, it's compromised. By now they'll have pulled off a list of all my contacts.'

‘What about the bugs in our house, Doug?'

Doug spun the wheel, angling the heavy craft towards the jetty. ‘All of us, you too, Mary, we buy new sim cards with new numbers. First off, Travers, you get hold of Scott. Get him back here. The man I spoke to says they'll do a sweep of the house this afternoon. By the time we've had lunch…' He glanced down at his watch. ‘Is it that time already… and done the shopping – they should be finished.'

‘Who do you know, Dad, that's into bugs?'

Doug shook his head. ‘I can't tell you that, Natasha.' He heaved a sigh. ‘You are all far too involved as it is.'

* * *

By the time they boarded the cruiser for the return trip across the harbour it was already dark, the mooring lights of vessels riding at anchor never still under a rolling swell. As they pulled into the mooring, a man stepped from the shadows hailing the cruiser.

Telling them to stay put, Doug went ashore. There was some muttered conversation then, with a wave of his hand, the man vanished back towards the house, leaving the family to carry in the shopping.

‘We're clear,' he announced stepping back on board.

‘You're sure?' Catherine said nervously.

‘One hundred per cent. These guys are like bomb-disposal experts; they can't afford mistakes. They've disconnected the main phone. So its mobiles only till I get the number changed. Come on, let's get this stuff into the house.'

‘Are you staying, Mary?'

‘I'd like to, Mrs Randal.' Mary picked up a large bag of groceries, following Travers up on deck. ‘I'm worried sick about Scott and Hilary – Travers has been texting and phoning, but nothing.'

Travers dumped the bags he and Mary were carrying in the kitchen and, grabbing Cokes from the fridge, walked upstairs with Mary to the family sitting room leaving Natasha and her mother to organise the food into cupboards. Handing her a can of Coke, he collapsed down on the couch, instantly getting to his feet again and roaming restlessly round the room. Knowing people had been in the house, even though they were checking for listening devices, had left the place feeling different somehow. But then everything
was
different.

Catching sight of the wool jacket he'd left on the back of a chair, he was reminded of the time he'd caught a loose thread in the sleeve of his favourite sweater. He'd tried to break it off only to see it unravelling. The more he pulled the worse it got, with no end in sight. Until… Travers heaved an angry sigh, it had to be thrown out. All he'd wanted, ever since he could remember, was to play rugby. That and being with Mary were the only things that interested him – pretty much. The news report, twenty-four hours earlier labelling his friend a murderer, had changed everything. Now, all he could think about was Scott and Jameson, and what was happening to them. Dad wasn't helping either. Making it worse, if anything. Whichever way you looked at it, if he knew people that casually went around debugging buildings, he was into something seriously serious.

Desperate to drive the whirring thoughts from his head, he switched on the television, scrolling down the channels for something to watch.

Mary placed her drink on a side table and, pulling out her new phone, switched it on. ‘When I get back home, I'll have to start replacing all my contacts. What a pain. Travers?'

He glanced up. ‘Mm?'

‘Do you think we're safe?'

‘Not sure.' He slammed his fist against the top of the bookcase making her jump. ‘Dad knows what's going on… I only wish he'd tell us. Put us out of our misery.'

‘Tell you what?' Doug wandered into the sitting room carrying a bottle of beer.

‘How you know experts in debugging and why the police are interested enough to bug the house in the first place. And how come you knew about Scott and his dad before we told you?'

Doug went over to his son, wrapping an arm round him. ‘I know it's frustrating and I'm desperately sorry; because of Scott problems you've all become involved. Especially you, Mary. I would have done anything to keep you out of it. I can't answer your questions. I told you before, it's too dangerous. Lives are at stake here. So let's forget it, at least for tonight, and enjoy our family evening. Nothing more we can do, anyway. I've already spoken to people about Jameson and Scott.'

‘You see, that's just it, Dad,' Travers broke in. ‘You've spoken to people. It's doing my head in. I could help – I know I could help.'

‘No, Travers. Forget it – you're sixteen.' Doug's voice was stern brooking no argument. ‘You've done your bit. Come on, I want to listen to the Premier League results.'

‘They're on in a minute.' Angrily, Travers increased the volume, the newscaster trawling through the items on the teleprompter. It was rare for his dad to lay down the law. When he was a kid, he'd never questioned it. But now – couldn't he understand that not knowing somehow made things worse?

The newscaster, a glamorous young twenty-something who had the job of relaying the early evening news, had already moved on to regional items, charity fund raising and a child who had beaten a serious illness against all odds. She paused. Closing the pages placed on the desk, left there to convey an impression that she was reading from a script, she stared into the camera, her tone changing. ‘Earlier today, at Truro railway station a tragedy occurred…'

Travers caught the frightened look in Mary's eyes. He grabbed her hand knowing she, like him, had guessed what was coming.

‘A young man fell to his death in front of an oncoming train. He has been provisionally identified as Wesley Davis, a student at Falmouth Comprehensive. Police are appealing for witnesses.'

Mary burst into tears. ‘We did that – we sent him to his death. If we hadn't… '

The harsh sound of the phone broke the horrified silence. Doug picked it up. ‘Yes!' Silence. ‘Exeter? How can I help you, Mr Armitage?'

He looked meaningfully at Travers, his gaze swinging to Natasha who had appeared in the open doorway, her jacket over her arm. ‘You say my son and daughter were arrested. What are they accused of?' Travers jumped to his feet, his face full of questions. He beckoned to his father who raised a hand silencing him. ‘May I see them?' Murmuring came from the mouthpiece. Doug replied, his tone steely. ‘I see. How thoughtful. You knew I would be concerned. Let me understand this correctly… They have already been taken in front of a magistrate, found guilty, and are in the process of being shipped to a camp. Can you find out where?' He listened intently, his face grim. ‘Not England. And a protest takes how long?' More murmurings. ‘And there's nothing I can do?'

Silence.

‘Very well.' Doug let out a loud impatient breath. ‘I will speak to you on Monday to see if you have further news.' His tone changed becoming terse and pithy, his words snapped off short, glaring at the figures staring rigidly at him.

Travers eyed his sister, passing across a silent warning. Oh Lord, they were in for an ear-bashing for giving away their precious identity cards.

‘Would you do me one kindness and try to get a message to them. I see; they've already left.'

Doug replaced the receiver and took a sip of his beer. ‘It gets worse by the minute. And I thought we could have a pleasant family evening and forget all this. It seems that you two have been arrested for disorderly conduct…' he said pleasantly. Travers groaned, aware he wasn't going to enjoy the next few minutes. ‘Which is quite a surprise, since you are both still sitting here. I guess you forgot to tell me that bit.'