Twenty-Six
Steven thought about what the policeman had said as he made his way to the Home Office. The man had just lost two of his close colleagues, probably friends, who had died suddenly and horribly, but somewhere among the grief would be the fact that they had failed to do their job. The had failed to protect Tally and that would add discomfort to the mix. The DI would want to minimise any damage to their reputation if he could. Could Barrowman really not have been alone? It seemed unthinkable to imagine he’d had an accomplice to murder, but the fact that he was still at large seemed ridiculous too. A wave of anger aimed at the police and MI5 threatened to challenge his judgement, but he rose above it. Any kind of emotion in the current situation would be counter-productive. He needed to be at his cool, calculating best — so why was a tear running down his cheek?
‘Have you heard anything?’ Macmillan asked as Steven entered the office to find everyone there except Lukas.
Steven said not.
‘Time enough yet,’ said Macmillan, making everyone wonder what that meant.
‘The trace is on your phone,’ said Jean before she handed him a new one with a new number. ‘Everyone has a note of it. No one will call you on the old one.’
Lukas arrived, apologising for being last. He handed over the packages they had intercepted at the sorting office. ‘I’ve done my best to re-pack everything the way it was. Maybe he’ll think we haven’t had a chance to look at anything yet. Not a lot of time has passed.’
Steven didn’t believe that for a moment, but thanked him.
‘I suspect what he’s really after is the one disk that is protected by encryption. I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to crack it,’ said Lukas.
Steven nodded, adding, ‘Can’t be helped.’ This was for the benefit of anyone who was about to suggest they should give Barrowman a false one in place of it. That was a non-starter.
He let the police and intelligence services representatives have their say about what should happen before saying, ‘There are a number of agendas present here. We all want Barrowman for our own reasons: a dead MI5 agent and two dead policemen have to be avenged, but the bastard has my lady and I want her back alive. That takes priority.’
There were no dissenting voices.
‘Barrowman is a psychopath and a very clever man. I don’t want anyone coming up with cunning plans designed to trap him — think what happened at the sorting office. He’s been running rings round us so we will respect that while I do whatever he says to get Tally back. There will be no interference from anyone, absolutely none. I will keep Sir John and Jean advised and call on the Sci-Med back-up service if I need anything. Everyone else should stay out of it.’
‘I understand how you must feel, doctor, but kidnap is really a matter for the police...’ said the senior policeman present, but Macmillan shut him up with a look and the words, ‘Not this time.’
Steven went home to his flat. He sat in his chair by the window, watching as the sky darkened. He held his phone lightly in his hand willing it to ring and he had pen and paper at his side ready to jot down instructions. The phone call when it came wasn’t going to last long enough for anyone to trace the origin. He expected a simple directive, probably to call another number from another phone. He would comply.
The minutes passed... the hours passed... the stars came out and the call didn’t come. Steven’s angst was becoming unbearable... and then he worked it out. Barrowman was orchestrating his misery. He was torturing him by deliberately not calling, letting his own imagination do the job for him. ‘Oh, Tally my love, he sighed... where are you...’
By two in the morning Steven had drunk so much coffee that his nerves were jangling. He paced up and down for close to thirty minutes before going through to the bedroom and throwing himself flat on the bed to lie in the darkness, allowing thoughts to come and go and reappear again in a varying order to form a changing mental tapestry which rivalled the flickering shadows on the ceiling as occasional car headlights passed along the street below... Macmillan’s assertion that Barrowman had found somewhere secure... somewhere he wasn’t alone... somewhere he felt so secure that he had started to think about science again. He wanted his data disks and a batch of chemicals... The forensics mix-up over Lucy Barrowman and the police failure to find her attacker, the disappearance of Lillian Leadbetter... and their current failure to find her either... the policeman’s assertion that Barrowman hadn’t been alone in carrying out the murder of his officers.
Steven suddenly sat bolt upright; his breathing had quickened to shallow, short breaths. He knew what was going on. He knew where Tally was.
He was surprised at how quickly Macmillan answered his home phone at that hour in the morning. ‘Has he rung?’ Macmillan asked.
‘No, but I know where she is and I know where Barrowman is. They’re in Moorlock Hall.’
‘How on earth...’
‘Barrowman must have gone there after killing the MI5 officer. Groves, the medical superintendent, wouldn’t have known anything about that so he allowed him in, assuming it must have something to do with his research project. Barrowman was armed with the gun he had taken from the MI5 man and had the element of surprise on his side; he probably forced Grove to free Lawler and the pair of them took over the place after doing God knows what... Since then, they’ve been enjoying trips up to town in a staff car to leave business cards, pick up parcels... and assault Lucy Barrowman!’ Steven exclaimed as he suddenly realised it could really have been Lawler who attacked her; it wasn’t a forensic mistake. ‘Oh my God.’
‘Some other things make sense now,’ said Macmillan. ‘The Post Office box system must have been used by Moorlock Hall when it was still a secret. Groves must have told Barrowman and Lawler about it under duress and they’ve been using it to order in what they wanted.’
‘I can only imagine what they did to Groves to get the information,’ Steven murmured. ‘Oh, God, Tally’s their prisoner too.’
‘You say he hasn’t phoned?’ asked Macmillan quickly.
Steven told him why he thought he hadn’t. ‘He’s got me dangling on a hook; he’s enjoying my suffering.’
‘If you’re right about all this we have the advantage,’ said Macmillan. ‘We have the time between now and when he phones to get organised.’
‘We can’t risk a full-frontal assault,’ said Steven. ‘These animals have nothing to lose, they’re already serving life. There will be no possibility of negotiation either.’
‘I’m thinking anti-terrorist squad.’
‘I’m thinking the Regiment, said Steven, using the nickname of the SAS, but Moorlock is not an ordinary building, it’s a high security prison. There are no windows, no openings for stun grenades, no weak doors.’
‘And on top of that we don’t know how much time we have to set up anything at all,’ said Macmillan. ‘It all depends on how long Sonny Jim gets pleasure from making you sweat.’
‘He’s doing well,’ said Steven bitterly.
‘We have to regard this as a full hostage situation, but not necessarily one the police can handle. I’m going to call the Home Secretary and brief her along with our recommendation. I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear from her, but, rest assured, I’m very much aware that Barrowman could call at any moment.’
‘The moment he does we revert immediately to the original plan,’ insisted Steven. ‘I do whatever he says and make the exchange without interference from anyone.’
‘Of course, but in the meantime, there’s no harm in getting things moving. We can get SFO police officers in position at a safe distance. They could at least report on anyone leaving the building and perhaps even intercept when they’re well away.’