Bring Him Back Page 7

  ‘It was me,’ Carl admitted, flushing.

  Drew looked at him. ‘Oh, son, what have you done?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Carl muttered guiltily. ‘I just missed mum so much. Just wanted to talk to her . . .’ He sniffed, looking as if he was about to cry.

  ‘It’s okay, son,’ Drew said, and clasped the boy tightly for a moment. ‘It’s okay. I understand. Daddy doesn’t blame you.’

  ‘I hate to break up a family scene,’ Ben said. ‘Now let’s go.’

  ‘You don’t realise the harm you’re doing,’ Drew said to him in an agony of emotion.

  Carl was peering at Ben, a strange look in his eyes. ‘Dad, I think he’s all right.’

  ‘Stop messing around,’ Ben said. ‘I’m here to take you back. Carl, you have to go home. Your father’s in quite a bit of trouble.’

  Drew shook his head and put his arm tightly around Carl’s shoulders. ‘Please. You can’t do that. You can’t let him go back there. If you could only understand …wait, what are you doing?’

  Ben had taken out his phone and was dialling. ‘You want to talk to your ex-wife?’

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Drew cried out. ‘Please!’

  Jessica answered. ‘I have them,’ Ben told her. ‘Both of them. Carl’s safe and sound.’

  There was an explosion of relief and joy at the other end of the line. Ben smiled to hear it. ‘I’ll be bringing him home to you soon. Stay near the phone, I’ll call again en route.’ He ended the call.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Drew groaned. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘It’s my job. To find you and take you back.’

  ‘You fool. You have no idea . . .’

  Ben motioned at the Rolls and snapped his fingers. ‘Enough. In the car,’ he commanded.

  ‘No,’ Drew said.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Drew. You’ll get in the car, if have to stuff you in the boot. You really want to do this the hard way?’

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ Drew pleaded. ‘That’s all I ask. I’ll explain everything to you. Then you’ll know why I can’t let my boy go back there. I just can’t.’

  ‘You’ve got ten. Starting now. I’m listening.’

  ‘Ten, then. But not here,’ Drew said.

  ‘Here’s as good as anywhere.’

  ‘No, no. We have to go back to the apartment,’ Drew insisted. ‘You’ll understand. Trust me. Please.’

  14

  THE POLICE SIRENS ululating over Monte Carlo signalled that the cops were furiously searching for the stolen cars and the thieves who’d made off with them in broad daylight. Their transport was just a little too conspicuous, so rather than risk getting caught Ben ditched it in a backstreet right on the edge of town. He and his two charges walked a little way and then hailed a taxi to take them to Drew’s apartment.

  Ben knew he was being soft by letting Drew bring him here, but there was no possibility now that the guy could make a break for it and hope to get away from him again. The man seemed so forlorn and broken that Ben couldn’t bring himself to play hardball with him. If Drew had something to say, he at least deserved a few minutes to get it off his chest before he was carted home to face justice.

  The apartment wasn’t exactly a typical desperado hideout. A penthouse crowning an exclusive block overlooking the harbour just a couple of minutes’ walk from where Ben had found the two of them, it was as palatial in size as it was luxurious. The place had more antiques than Sotheby’s, and some of the Oriental rugs draped over the polished marble floors were probably worth as much as the Rolls Royce Ben had trashed that day.

  Seeing Ben’s surprised look, Drew explained that the apartment belonged to a former client, Prince Al-Naseem. Some years ago, Drew had travelled to Saudi Arabia to do a photo portrait of his prized pair of hunting goshawks. The Prince had been impressed enough with the result to grant him free use of the luxury apartment in Monaco whenever he needed it. ‘I never told Jessica about it,’ Drew sighed. ‘Never thought I’d ever use it.’

  ‘You’ll get your chance to tell her before too long,’ Ben said. ‘Now, ten minutes. Remember?’

  Sitting on a plush sofa with Carl next to him, Drew took a deep breath and began to tell his story.

  ‘If Jessica’s hired you, then you probably know all about me. I was a drunk. I admit it. I was a bum. It’s not something I’m proud of. And when Jessica started seeing that Mike character, I got even worse. Like a fool I went and got myself so sloshed that I crashed the car that day. For the first time,’ he added, shamefaced, touching the fresh cut on his brow.

  ‘Wasn’t your fault, Dad,’ Carl said softly.

  Drew lovingly caressed his hair. ‘Maybe not this time, son. I’m not much of a getaway driver. But the first time was my fault and I hate myself for it.’ He paused. ‘Carl, why don’t you go and play with your chess set while I talk to this man?’

  ‘Dad . . .’

  ‘Please, Carl.’

  With the boy reluctantly gone from the room, Drew was able to speak more freely. ‘I felt like drowning myself after the accident. I’d not only risked Carl’s safety, the repercussions were devastating. Next thing I knew, Jessica had the restraining order slapped on me and I couldn’t even see my boy any more. Maybe I was being irrational. I know I was. But I blamed him for it.’

  ‘Mike?’ Ben asked.

  Drew nodded. ‘That fucker was the reason I’d hit the bottle so hard this time. I wanted some kind of revenge. So even though I was banned from driving, I bought an old banger for cash, no tax or insurance, and started hanging about the house. I’d hide in the trees and spy on the place with binoculars. Saw him playing with my boy in the garden. I knew Carl didn’t like him either. He’d told me so. I suppose that could have been a consolation to me, but it just made me feel worse knowing that this slimy prick had taken my place. My role. My life. It was like he’d erased me, like I didn’t exist any more.’

  Drew paused to reflect sadly. ‘God, I was so down, I could’ve just drunk myself into the ground at that point. But then, I don’t know, I just somehow focused. Look at this guy, I thought. What’s he got that I haven’t got? The answer was obvious. He was better looking than me, he was thinner than me, and he was probably a damn sight richer than me now that I’d squandered most of my money. Not to mention that he wasn’t a pitiful stumbling piss-artist, either. So I realised what I had to do to better myself. I poured all the booze down the drain and vowed I’d never touch another drop. Same with all the junk food. Off with the beard, the hair. I started exercising like crazy to lose weight, tried to eat right.’

  ‘And you started on the detox medication,’ Ben said.

  ‘You knew about that? It’s true. Christ, I’d have done anything to better myself. As time went by, I kept hanging about the house. Couldn’t help myself. I looked so different I don’t think they’d have recognised me, but I still made sure they never spotted me. I’d noticed the way Mike would often go off on his own for hours at a time, and I got this idea in my head that I should follow him and see what he was up to. I became obsessed with the idea that he was cheating on Jessica, seeing some other woman on the island. It made me so furious. I might have been a shit husband, but I’d never once been unfaithful in all the years we were married. I hatched a plan that if I could catch the scumbag at it, I could get him out of the picture. Then maybe, just maybe, Jessica would see how I’d changed and she’d take me back in and I’d have my family again.’

  Ben could see the raw emotion on Drew’s face. He was being completely sincere.

  ‘So I started tailing Mike. And I found out where he was going. He wasn’t seeing another woman. He was meeting up with men.’

  ‘Meeting men?’ Ben echoed. ‘You mean—?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Well, that was my initial thought, at least. They’d meet up in cafés, on the ferry. I took pictures with a long lens. There were two different men, but it was always a one-on-one meeting. I never saw them going into hotel rooms or anywhere private like th
at, but I was sure there was more to it. That’s when I brought on board a detective from the mainland.’

  ‘That would be Paul Finley in Dover?’

  Drew glanced at Ben in surprise that he knew. ‘That’s right. The agency specialised in divorce and custody cases, infidelities, that kind of stuff. If someone was cheating on their wife or partner, they’d know about it. I went to Dover and hired them on the spot. I was convinced that we could nail Mike, and that Jessica would throw him out. Anyway, a while went by without contact. Then Finley phoned me to say he’d seen what I’d seen. He was keeping track of Mike’s mysterious little meetings. But he’d managed to get closer than me, and he didn’t think it was a gay thing at all. He said he thought Mike was passing information to these guys.’

  ‘What kind of information?’

  ‘Finley couldn’t tell. At least, not at first. Time went by and I didn’t hear anything from him. Then one day, he called me. Sounded excited, and anxious too. Said he’d found something out. Something very strange and disturbing. Those were his words. He wouldn’t say any more over the phone. What he did say was that he believed it had something to do with Carl.’

  ‘With Carl?’ Ben said, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘He warned me that Carl might be in danger. Promised to meet me and explain everything, when he’d found out more. And that’s the last I heard from him. Next thing I knew, he was dead.’

  Ben looked carefully at Drew. He seemed to be telling the truth.

  ‘A mugging gone wrong,’ Drew went on. ‘Just another statistic. There are so many fatal stabbings in Britain these days, what’s one more? But I knew that this was connected. And I knew that Finley had been right and that Carl was in danger.’

  Ben frowned, but said nothing and went on listening.

  ‘That’s when I decided I had to get him out of there. If I’d still had parental access, it would have been so much easier. Instead, I had to plan this whole kidnap thing, as fast as I could. I found a forger in Brittany who could do the false passports. Dyed my hair for the photo and used Photoshop to doctor Carl’s picture. I took all my money out of the bank. Bought a wig and a fake beard that made me look like I used to before I’d cleaned myself up, and a load of padding that I could stuff under my clothes to make me look fat. Paid six months’ rent to this old farmer for a static caravan in a field overlooking Bonne Nuit beach. Very secluded, the perfect place I could take Carl after the snatch.’ Drew shrugged. ‘Then all I needed was a weapon of some kind. I’m not the most physical guy. I needed to be able to intimidate Mike somehow and get him into the cellar. I thought about using a knife, but what if there was a struggle and somehow Carl got hurt? That’s when I thought about using a fake gun. Not,’ he added, ‘that I’d have had the faintest idea where to get a real one. But that way, I could carry off the kidnapping without any risk of anyone being injured if it all went horribly wrong. I found one in a secondhand shop that looked real, at least to me. And it worked on Mike, too. Everything went exactly as I’d planned. Carl played his role very well.’

  ‘He knew?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We were secretly in touch the whole time, by phone. He wanted to get away as much as I wanted him out of there. So off we went. I hated having to lock Jessica in the cellar, but I’d no choice. After we left the house, I drove Carl straight to the caravan. I burned the wig, the beard and the body padding. Quickly dyed his hair to make him look like the passport photo. I’d timed it all so that we could catch the last ferry. If by some chance Mike and Jessica had got out of the cellar by then and raised the alarm, the police would be looking for an overweight bearded guy looking like a dosser, accompanied by a little fair-haired boy. It didn’t happen. Nobody looked twice at our passports on landing in France. It was so easy. We jumped on a train and came down to Monaco. I’d planned to stay here a few more weeks and then move on somewhere more permanent. We’d have started a new life.’ Drew shook his head forlornly. ‘And I was sure we’d made it. Until today, when you came along.’

  Ben thought for a moment. ‘So this whole plan came about because you thought that Carl was in danger from Mike?’

  Drew nodded. ‘I’m still certain of it.’

  ‘And you couldn’t just have told Jessica, instead of resorting to kidnap?’

  ‘What, you think she’d have believed me?’ Drew snorted. ‘She’d have seen it as a ploy, that’s all.’

  ‘Fine. Let’s talk straight here, Drew. You’ve told me about Mike’s meetings with these other men. The way he seemed to be passing on some kind of material that somehow related to Carl. Then there’s whatever it was that Finley found out that made him think Carl was at risk. Are you saying that Mike belongs to a paedophile ring? Was Carl being abused?’

  Drew shook his head. ‘No, he wasn’t being abused. It’s not that. It’s something else. Something even worse. Carl knew all along that Mike wasn’t what he seemed to be. The creep was always asking him all these little questions. Playing mind games, like he was observing his responses. Studying him like a lab rat, Carl said. Carl couldn’t get into his head. Which is odd. But he could sense something about the guy that made him uncomfortable. I believe that Finley discovered the truth behind it all.’

  ‘What do you mean, Carl couldn’t get into his head? Ben asked, totally baffled. Sensed what?’

  ‘That’s why I needed you to come here,’ Drew said. There’s something I have to show you.’

  15

  BEN WAITED, CONFUSED and impatient, while Drew fished a video cassette out of a bag and fed it into a VCR. Prince Al-Naseem’s giant TV screen flashed into life. ‘What are you showing me, Drew?’ he asked. The ten minutes had been up long ago.

  ‘Just watch,’ Drew said. As the video began to play, Carl put his head round the door and came back into the room. ‘Is this—?’ he began, and his father nodded.

  Ben quickly realised that he was watching a high-quality home video. The image was steady, as if the camera had been mounted on a tripod in the hands of an expert. ‘Did you film this?’ he asked.

  ‘August 2001,’ Drew said. ‘Our family holiday near Málaga.’

  The screen showed a village square, surrounded by old whitewashed houses and shaded from the sun. The square was bustling with people, who seemed to be crowding to watch some spectacle taking place, many of them craning their necks to see. Whatever it was, it was generating an excited buzz of chatter.

  As Ben watched, the camera panned smoothly across to reveal what the crowd were so interested in. Sitting opposite one another at a café table were two chess players. On one side, playing black with a look of intense concentration, was a swarthy middle-aged man with the deep tan of a native of southern Spain; on the other side, playing white, was a younger, smaller Carl in shorts and a T-shirt. However long the game had been going on for, there were only a few pieces remaining on the board. After a few more moments’ careful deliberation, the Spaniard picked up his surviving bishop and cut diagonally across the board to threaten a white rook. The move caused a murmur among the crowd.

  ‘That’s Ángelo Martín,’ Drew said. ‘He was the Spanish chess champion eight years running.’

  With hardly a pause, Carl reached for his threatened rook and slid it across to capture the second black knight. It took a couple of moments for the spectators to realise why Ángelo Martín was now gaping at the chessboard in disbelief. Gasps broke out.

  ‘Checkmate,’ Carl said calmly.

  Cameras began to flash. ‘He’s done it again!’ said on offscreen voice in Spanish. ‘It’s impossible,’ said another. ‘Nobody beats Ángelo Martín just like that. He’s the champion, for Christ’s sake!’

  Drew paused the video, the frozen image of the humiliated champ’s dark expression filling the screen. ‘He hadn’t been playing long. Had you, Carl?’

  ‘’Bout four months,’ the boy replied casually, trying not to look too proud of himself.

  Ben stared at them both. ‘Explain what this is about.’

  ‘It was
just a fluke, how it happened,’ Drew told him. ‘We’d rented a place in this little village, and that afternoon the three of us were having a drink in the square. I’d bought Carl his chess computer not long before, and he was sitting quietly playing when this friendly local guy at a nearby table took an interest in what he was doing. He spoke English and seemed pretty impressed with Carl’s moves, giving him tips and advice. Before Jessica and I knew it, a proper chessboard had been brought out and the two of them were playing a real game.

  ‘It was only then that we realised the man was Ángelo Martín. He started out playing gently, letting Carl take a few pawns. But then things started getting more serious. Carl was wiping the board with him. He seemed to be able to anticipate every move in the champion’s mind, foil every strategy before it even had a chance to develop. Carl had always shown some odd abilities, but this was the first time I began to realise how strong his gift was.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Dad,’ Carl said shyly.

  ‘I’m not, son. It was incredible,’ Drew went on telling Ben. ‘Soon there were whole crowds gathering. By the time Carl had already won two games in a row, I ran back to the house for my video camera and started filming. I had to get this on tape. Some people thought it was fixed, or that Carl was cheating somehow. But he wasn’t. After three straight defeats, Ángelo Martín lost his rag and went storming off.’

  Carl couldn’t help smiling at the memory.

  ‘Word spread during the couple more weeks we were there,’ Drew went on. ‘A local journalist called Isabella Saura got wind of it and asked for an interview. I’ve got that on tape too. Hold on.’ Drew fast-forwarded the video. At high speed, Ben saw the disgruntled chess champion throw over his king and stomp angrily away. The picture dissolved into static for a second, then cut to the interview.

  ‘I hate watching myself,’ Carl muttered.

  Drew let it play. Indoors now, a slightly younger Jessica was sitting proudly smiling with her arm around Carl. ‘Mrs Hunter,’ said the interviewer, Isabella Saura in lightly accented English, ‘what would you say to the sceptics who don’t believe your son is a newcomer to the game of chess?’