'No. It's just… an impression I have.'
'I'll be in touch.'
'What about the Halls? Will you be in touch with them?'
'Sorry?'
'Jeremy Hall's suicide prompted a lot of publicity. One of the newspaper articles I read mentioned a previous suicide by someone linked with the Avebury case. Sally Umber. Not a common surname. Not common at all. I took a flick through the archives. Found you – and Mr Sharp. I visited him yesterday and asked him about it.'
'What did he say?'
'Nothing. Absolutely nothing.'
'Well, that's my line too.'
'I rather thought it might be. Though whether the police will be content with it…'
'The police?'
'They're bound to follow up the connection sooner or later. I wondered if that was why… you'd called in this morning.' Burnouf glanced pointedly at the envelope in Umber's hand.
'Thanks for this,' Umber said stiffly. 'I've got to go.' He turned and made for the door, but before he reached it something stopped him. He looked back at Burnouf. 'Perhaps you could pass a message to George for me after all.'
'I'd be happy to.'
Tell him… it isn't over.'
How Sharp would take such a message Umber did not know. His thoughts were fixed now on getting himself and Chantelle off Jersey as quickly as possible. He hurried out of Le Templier & Burnouf and started back the way he had come, glancing at his watch as he went. It had just turned half past nine. He was comfortably on schedule. His gaze returned to the street ahead.
And he found himself looking into the eyes of Percy Nevinson.
'David! Well, well, well.' Nevinson beamed at him. 'How very nice to see you. And how very unexpected.'
Umber's heart sank. Silently but eloquently, he cursed his luck. 'Percy, I -'
'We shouldn't be too surprised, though. This is a small island. And I assume we're bound for the same destination this morning.'
'Where might that be, Percy?'
'The magistrates' court.' Nevinson winked. 'Mr Sharp's hearing. It should prove interesting, I think. Of course, you may be able to tell me how he finds himself in such a position. The gamekeeper poached, so to speak. Why don't we step in somewhere for a cup of coffee? You can fill me in on the background.'
'Sorry. I'm in a rush. Can't stop.'
'Well, I'll walk with you and we can talk as we go. You see, I can hardly believe Mr Sharp's predicament is unconnected with the latest tragedy to strike the Hall family. Jeremy Hall's suicide is actually what prompted me to come to Jersey. I imagine you can tell me a good deal about that as well, if you've a mind to.'
'But I don't have a mind to, Percy. That's the point. Get out of my way.'
Nevinson bridled. 'There's no need to take that tone.'
'Oh but there is. Now I -'
The events of the next few seconds were compressed into a bewildering jumble in Umber's mind. The flank of a white Transit van appeared suddenly at the edge of his vision. The vehicle bounced up onto the pavement and lurched to a halt a few inches from him, the side-door sliding open fast as it did so. He was grabbed from behind by someone on the pavement, his arms pinned to his sides, the envelope plucked from his hand. A second figure loomed above him and grasped his shoulders. Then he was hoisted off his feet and into the van.
He was face down on an oily blanket covering the floor as the door slammed shut. Two men, strong enough to handle him like a child, were above and around him. There was a shout of 'Go!' then the van surged forward, left the pavement with a jolt and accelerated away. Umber could see the thick neck and shaven head of the driver through the wire-mesh screen between him and the cab.
It was to be no more than a glimpse. His head was yanked up. A blindfold was slung across his eyes. The cloth pressed painfully into them as the knot was fastened. He cried out. But the cry was stifled by a strip of duct tape, slapped across his mouth and pressed tight against his skin. His hands were crushed together behind his back, then cords twined round his wrists and tightened. He tried to struggle up, but a boot descended heavily on his neck, forcing him down again.
Then came a rasping voice close to his ear. 'Lie still or we'll break every fucking bone in your body.'
They were on the road for about half an hour, Umber estimated. His shock faded slightly, but his fear only increased. Reasoning as best he could, he deduced they had been following Nevinson in the hope he would lead them to Umber, as, by pure and malign chance, he had. Nevinson had presumably been left to goggle at the departing van. He was not important. They had got the man they wanted. But what they meant to do with him he did not know. All he knew for certain was that he did not want to find out. The only consolation he had to hold on to was that they had struck too soon. He might have led them to Chantelle if they had held off. But they did not know about her. That was his only advantage. And he had to make the most of it.
Eventually, the van came to a halt. The engine died. The side-door slid open. He was pulled upright and bundled into the open air. He felt the coolness of it against his skin at once. The wind stirred his hair. There was stony ground beneath his feet. 'Start walking' came the instruction. He was frogmarched forward. They covered about twenty yards. He heard a burble of conversation nearby, but could not catch the words. Then: 'Get in the car.' He was pushed through an open car doorway, a hand pressing down his head to clear the frame. The door clunked shut behind him.
He could smell new leather and a residue of cigar smoke. There was an arm-rest to his left. With his hands tied behind him, he had to lean forward slightly in his seat. He sensed there was someone beside him. He heard an envelope being torn open. There was a rustling of paper. A few minutes of silence followed. Then the man beside him spoke, in a soft, moist, sticky tone, as if he was sucking a toffee.
'Listen to me carefully, Mr Umber. I'm going to offer you a deal. And you're going to accept it. That's the way it is. That's the way it has to be. We want Cherie. Or Chantelle, as I gather she calls herself now. You're the only one who's seen her recently. The only one alive, anyway. So, you know what she looks like these days. And we believe you can find her for us. We could persuade you to tell us what you know about her and go after her ourselves, but we're concerned about our profile. It's been worryingly high lately. So, you get the job. Congratulations. There's a time limit, naturally. Three days. I'm going to put a card in your pocket.' Umber felt something being slipped into his shirt pocket. 'There's a telephone number on it. Ring us by noon on Friday with details of where and when we can collect the girl. In return, we'll arrange for a reliable witness to tell the police he saw the drugs being planted on Sharp's van and we'll refrain from sending them this incriminating document you've kindly supplied us with. We cleaned up after you at the flat in St Aubin, but there's a body waiting to be found in an abandoned car at Noirmont Point which fingerprints and DNA would tie you to for certain if the police were pointed in the right direction. Wisby's likely to throw all sorts of accusations your way. You really do need to be in a position to refute them. There'd be other kinds of retribution if you defied us, of course. For you and Ms Wheatley and Ms Myers. And we'd find Cherie in the end anyway, so you and your friends would be sacrificed in vain. But I don't need to spell it all out for you, do I? You're an intelligent man. You can see there's no choice. It's open and shut. So, just nod your head to confirm we have a deal. That's all you have to do. That and deliver the girl, of course.' There was a pause. 'Well?'
A moment slowly passed. Then Umber nodded.
'Thank you, Mr Umber. It's been a pleasure doing business with you.'