The only thing he was certain of was that Kale wouldn’t give up his son again.
Colin called around later that evening. “You haven’t heard anything?” he asked as Ben let him in, but it wasn’t really a question.
They sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee, not really talking.
“Maggie sends her love,” Colin said at one point.
Ben nodded, not caring. A distant thought surfaced. “Aren’t you supposed to be going on holiday?”
“Not till tomorrow morning.”
“Have you packed?”
The inanity of it made them both smile. The moment quickly passed.
“Maggie’ll do it.” Colin hesitated. “Anyway, I’ve told her I might not be going.”
“Why not?”
“Come on, Ben.”
“There’s no point missing your holiday.”
“I can manage without Donald Duck for a few more days.”
“I know, but—”
“Ben,” Colin said, quietly but firmly, “I’m not going to go, okay? It’s my decision. I’ve told Maggie I’ll fly out to them as soon as all this is sorted. So long as the boys can go on the rides they won’t even notice I’m not there. I’ll make it up to them later, and Maggie... well, Maggie’ll have to make do with my Gold Card.”
Ben looked at him, surprised even through the haze of anxiety.
Colin shrugged. “Something like this puts things in perspective.”
He didn’t say any more, but the look on his face was more like the old, pre-suicide Colin.
He stayed till quite late, until finally Ben told him to go home.
After he’d gone Ben went into the lounge. He turned on the TV and sat down in front of it. He didn’t realise he was tired, would have said he could never sleep, but at some point he slipped into a doze.
He jerked awake on the settee, heart racing. The TV was showing a snow-filled screen. A soft hiss of static filled the room.
The house was silent. He saw that it was after two o’clock. He went to the phone and lifted the receiver to make sure it was still working. While it was in his hand he considered calling Norris. But the inspector had promised to let him know if anything happened. He put down the receiver without dialling.
Where are they?
His mouth was dry. He went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Even that had to be forced down. He poured half of it away, and as he put the tumbler in the sink his hand caught the edge of the draining rack. The glass slipped from his fingers and smashed.
He mechanically bent down and began picking the pieces up. The smaller fragments were scattered across the kitchen floor. They reminded him of something. It hovered at the brink of recognition. He stared down at them, unaware that he’d stopped moving as it came to him.
The shattered windscreen in the road. The damaged police car. The bumper from Kale’s battered Escort. Where would Kale go?
“Oh, Jesus.”
He ran to the phone, dialled Norris’s number. A policewoman answered. Ben’s voice shook as he asked to speak to the inspector. His urgency must have convinced her. She told him to hold.
Norris came on, sounding tired.
“They’re at the scrapyard,” Ben said.
Chapter twenty
The drive to Tunford, the second in twenty-four hours, was both the fastest and the longest. The roads were empty and he kept his foot flat on the accelerator once he reached the motorway. The car rattled. He could feel the vibrations through the steering wheel as he appealed to a God he didn’t believe in, offering deals, making promises.
Let him he all right. I’ll believe.
Take me instead.
It fell into the empty air.
He hadn’t told Norris he was going. He hadn’t planned it himself. The inspector had promised to check out the scrapyard, but it had been impossible simply to sit and wait.
He was certain that Kale had taken Jacob there. With Kale’s own scrap collection out of bounds, there was nowhere else for him to go.
It was inevitable.
He resented having to slow down once he came off the motorway. The roads were unlit, and once he instinctively stabbed at the brake as something darted from a hedge in front of him. The flowing tail of a fox disappeared through a fence on the other side. He crashed the gears and accelerated again.
A police cordon blocked the road. Beyond it he could see the scrapyard’s walls, illuminated by a forest of flashing lights.
Oh God. He wound down the window as a policeman came towards him.
“What’s happening?”
“Sorry, sir, the road’s blocked. You’ll have to turn—”
“Have you caught Kale?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to—”
“Tell Inspector Norris that Ben Murray needs to see him! Please, it’s urgent!”
The policeman grudgingly went back to his car. He crouched down and picked up the radio handset An age past before he straightened.
He waved Ben through.
Police cars and vans lined the road outside the scrapyard, canted at crazy angles. Two waiting ambulances stood amongst them. The flashing lights gave the scene a fairground appearance.
He pulled in as soon as there was room and left the car without locking it.
Uniformed police surrounded the yard’s walls from behind the cover of their vehicles.
Most of them carried guns. One of them saw him and hurried over. Ben preempted any questions by asking for Norris. The policeman regarded him suspiciously and told him to wait.
Ben looked towards the yard’s tall gates. They were closed, but parked in front of them was Kale’s Ford Escort.
He felt sick.
The policeman came back and led him through the confusion to what could have been the same white trailer that had been outside the Kales’ that morning. It seemed much longer ago than that. Norris stood by its steps, talking to a tall man in a bulletproof vest. Their breath steamed in the cold air. He broke off when he saw Ben.
“Mr Murray, I don’t think—”
“Are they in there? Is Jacob all right?”
Norris drew a breath as if he was going to argue, then let it out as a sigh, “Kale’s car’s here, so we’re assuming he is. We don’t know any more than that. The owner’s on his way with the key to the main gates.”
“Can’t you go over the wall?”
The tall man broke in. “It’s topped with broken glass and barbed wire. I’m not sending anyone over that when there might be someone waiting with a shotgun on the other side.”
His scalp showed through his cropped blond hair. He didn’t attempt to hide his antagonism at a civilian presence.
“This is Sergeant O’Donnell,” Norris said. “He’s in charge of the Tactical Firearms Unit. Now if you don’t mind, we’ve got a lot to do, so—”
“If Kale’s in there you might need me,” Ben said, quickly. “I know him.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please. I won’t get in the way.”
Norris considered. “I’ll tell the superintendent you’re here. He might want the negotiator to talk to you.” He went up the steps into the trailer.
The policeman called O’Donnell detached himself and walked away without another word. After a moment the trailer door opened and Norris beckoned Ben in.
The light inside was bright, the atmosphere foul with coffee and cigarettes. The small space seemed full of activity.
A heavily-built man with a moustache and bloodshot eyes was perched with one meaty thigh on the corner of a desk. A small cigar burned down between his thick, nicotined fingers.