Kim and Calder nodded. Dr Calder continued. ‘We should help the police as much as we can, but I share Alex’s concern that they won’t find the evidence to arrest him. If he got away with it, I would be very angry.’ The bushy white eyebrows knitted together and the craggy face set itself in a determined stare. ‘Very angry indeed.’
‘Me too,’ said Kim.
‘Alex?’
Calder nodded.
‘So. What are we going to do?’
‘I can’t see what else we can do, except tell the police all we know,’ Calder said. ‘I can hardly beat a confession out of Cornelius, can I?’
‘Come on, Alex,’ his father said. ‘I’m disappointed in you. You’ve done this kind of thing before, haven’t you? I won’t have the bastard who crippled my daughter getting away with it. You were asking what you can do to make up for what happened to Todd and Annie. Well, I’m telling you. Nail him.’
Calder smiled at his father. Suddenly the fuzziness in his brain cleared. ‘There are things we can do,’ he said. ‘We can’t investigate the bombs in the Yak and the Maserati any better than the police can. But Kim’s original instincts are exactly right. Martha van Zyl’s death is the key. If we can find out who killed her and why, then what’s happening now will make much more sense.’
‘There’s something there Cornelius doesn’t want us to discover,’ said Kim. ‘And he’ll go to great lengths, even to the point of murdering his own son, to stop us.’
‘We can’t be sure it is Cornelius,’ said Dr Calder.
‘Fair point,’ said Calder. ‘But once we find out more about Martha we’ll know one way or another.’
The three of them exchanged glances. There was a new sense of purpose in the room.
‘It’s going to be dangerous,’ said Kim. ‘Todd and Anne have both been injured. If you persist in asking questions, they’ll come after you.’
‘She’s right,’ Dr Calder said.
Calder looked at his friend and his father. ‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Say what you want to say,’ his father said. ‘It has to be up to you.’
Calder closed his eyes. The danger was real, he knew it. But so was the opportunity: the opportunity to do something for Todd and Anne, for Kim and his father, but most of all the opportunity to do something for himself. It was a way out, a way for him to face all those tomorrows.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said.
His father smiled.
They heard a loud knock at the front door. Calder noticed a crisp cream envelope lying on the mat. He opened the door to see a small black man in a baggy suit whom he recognized as Cornelius’s driver getting into a Mercedes parked a few yards down the lane.
Calder picked up the envelope and took it back into the sitting room to show to the others.
‘Did he drive all the way up from London just to deliver that?’ said Kim.
‘Presumably.’
‘I wonder what it is. Probably a threat of some sort.’
‘Let’s see.’ Calder slid his finger along the seal of the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper bearing a bold, forward-sloping scrawl. He scanned it and passed it on to his father and Kim.
Dear Alex
I was very sorry to hear about your sister’s injuries. My thoughts are with her and your family.
I can understand the pain and anger you must be feeling now. I can also see how in the heat of the moment you might believe that I was responsible. I hope that now you have had a few hours to reflect, you can see that I would never harm my own son, nor an innocent woman like your sister.
You can be confident that I will give the police all the assistance I can in finding whoever it was who committed these appalling crimes, and also that I won’t mention what occurred at my house last night.
If I can be of any help to you or your sister, please ask.
Sincerely
Dr Calder examined the letter. ‘Sanctimonious bastard,’ he said, when he had read it. ‘You should have hit him harder.’
Calder felt a little better at breakfast the next morning. His father had stayed the night and had gone for a brisk early-morning walk down to the sea. William and the kids had checked into a hotel in King’s Lynn. Calder scanned the newspapers over a second cup of coffee. There was a big article in the Financial Times on the bid for The Times, which was now threatening to turn into a full-scale takeover battle. The Laxton Media board were dithering over Zyl News’s offer. In the meantime, three other potential bidders were said to be looking closely at the situation: a large German publishing conglomerate, an Irish property tycoon who owned papers in South Africa, Ireland and the United States, and Telegraph Newspapers, who published a rival quality broadsheet. The price was high, but The Times was a unique newspaper. According to the FT there was no clear favourite. The Germans had deep pockets but a struggling share price, and the Irishman was showing signs of breaching his own rule never to overpay. Despite the likelihood of referral to the Competition Commission, Telegraph Newspapers were reported willing to try their luck. Sir Evelyn Gill and Cornelius van Zyl were well known for their desperation to own the paper, but both were stretched financially.
Any one of them could emerge as a successful bidder. Anyone but Cornelius, Calder hoped.
Calder realized that inactivity was his enemy. He phoned his insurance company to set in motion a claim for the wrecked Maserati, then he and his father drove to the hospital, where Anne was stable but unconscious. The doctors had saved her leg, reconstructed it almost. They pronounced her ‘a fighter’ and were now much more confident that she would pull through. There was no change with Todd. Calder avoided William, but exchanged some friendly words with Kim. Dr Calder set off with the children for London, and dropped off Calder at a local garage where he hired an old black Golf to last him until he got around to buying another car. He drove it back to his cottage to find Detective Inspector Banks and her chubby friend waiting for him.
He invited them into the house, and made them a pot of coffee. Banks looked even paler than she had the previous Saturday, except for the dark smudges under her eyes. It had obviously been a long weekend.
‘How’s it going?’ Calder asked.
‘Forensics have confirmed that the bomb in the plane was made by the same person who made the bomb in the car.’
‘Big surprise,’ said Calder. Banks glanced at him sharply. ‘Did Benton Davis tell you anything?’
‘No more than he told you. We have made inquiries with the police in South Africa about Martha van Zyl’s death. We’re waiting to hear back from them. In the meantime, we’d like to ask you a few more questions.’
‘Please do.’
She pulled a single sheet of paper out of a folder. It was a sketch of a middle-aged man, beefy with short hair and a moustache. Calder studied it.
‘Have you seen anyone like this around here?’ Banks asked. ‘He’s about five foot eight inches tall, and he might have been wearing a black leather jacket.’
Calder shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘We have a witness who saw this man driving along the lane outside your house on Friday. He stopped and had a good look round. It matches the description of the man walking along the airfield perimeter the night before the Yak bomb went off.’